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PRINCETON  *  NEW  JERSEY 


PRESENTED  BY 

The  Estate  of 
Rockwell  S.  Brank 

O  ti  ni 

>  W  (d4- 


I 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2019  with  funding  from 
Princeton  Theological  Seminary  Library 


https://archive.org/details/worldsgreatrelig00hill_0 


J 


I 


THE  WORLD’S 
GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


4 


THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

NEW  YORK  •  BOSTON  •  CHICAGO  •  DALI  AS 
ATLANTA  •  SAN  FRANCISCO 

MACMILLAN  &  CO.,  Limited 

LONDON  •  BOMBAY  •  CALCUTTA 
MELBOURNE 

THE  MACMILLAN  CO.  OF  CANADA,  Lro, 

TORONTO 


THE  WORLD’S 
GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


jRcto  ffotft 

THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

1926 


All  rights  reserved 


COPYRIGHTED 


First  edition  published  January  1923. 
edition  with  corrections,  June  1923. 
printed  September  1924,  May  1925 
August  1926. 


New 

Re- 

and 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 
By  The  Cornwall  Press 


ACKNOWLEDGMENTS 


Thanks  are  due  to  the  following  publishers  for  permission  to  include 
selections  from  the  volumes  enumerated  below: 


The  Macmillan  Company  for 

Selections  from  the  collected  poems  of: 


Ananda  Acharya 
Matthew  Arnold 
Alice  Brown 
Dinah  Muloch  Craik 
Mary  Carolyn  Davies 
Edward  Dowden 
Mrs.  Edward  Dowden 
Norman  Gale 
Hamlin  Garland 
Wilfrid  W.  Gibson 
Wm.  Ernest  Henley 
Ralph  Hodgson 
William  Noel  Hodgson 
Horace  Holley 

Kabir  (E.  Indian,  trans,  by  Tagore) 


Vachel  Lindsay 

Percy  Mackaye 

John  Masefield 

Frederick  Wm.  H.  Myers 

John  G.  Neihardt 

Edwin  Arlington  Robinson 

George  Wm.  Russell  (A.  E .) 

James  Stephens 

Rabindranath  Tagore 

Sara  Teasdale 

Edith  M.  Thomas 

Alfred  Tennyson 

William  Watson 

William  B.  Yeats 

Israel  Zangwill 


D.  Appleton  and  Company  for 

William  Cullen  Bryant — From  Thanatopsis. 

William  Cullen  Bryant — To  a  Waterfowl. 

William  Cullen  Bryant — The  Poet. 

Wm.  E.  H.  Lecky — Of  an  Old  Song. 

Richard  Henry  Dana — Immortality. 

Allen  and  Unwin  for 

Edward  Carpenter — Five  selections  from  “Towards  Democracy.” 
Basil  Blackwell  for 

Gerald  Gould — The  Happy  Tree  (from  “Collected  Poems”). 


Bobbs-Merrill  Company  for 

James  W.  Riley — Away!  (from  “Collected  Poems”). 

Boni  and  Liveright  for 

Two  selections  from  “The  Modern  Book  of  French  Verse.” 
One  selection  from  “The  Path  of  the  Rainbow”  (Cronyn). 


Brentano’s  for 

Harry  Kemp — He  Did  Not  Know  (from  “Chanteys  and  Ballads”). 

Harry  Kemp — God  the  Architect  and  Prayer  (from  “The  Cry  of  Youth”). 

A.  C.  Fifield  for 

Wm.  H.  Davies — Christ  the  Man  (from  “Songs  of  Joy”). 


Century  Company  for 

Wm.  C.  Gannett — The  Highway. 

Wm.  C.  Gannett — The  Stream  of  Faith. 

Wm.  C.  Gannett — Consider  the  Lilies  (from  “Collected  Poems”). 


V 


VI 


ACKNOWLEDGMENTS 


Helen  Keller — The  Garden  of  the  Lord  (from  “The  World  I  Live  In”}. 

S.  Weir  Mitchell — Vespers  (from  “Complete  Poems”). 

James  Oppenheim — The  New  God  (from  “War  and  Laughter”). 

Cale  Young  Rice — The  Mystic  (from  “Collected  Poems  and  Plays”). 

Cale  Young  Rice — Providence  (from  “Wraiths  and  Realities”). 

Cale  Young  Rice — Litany  for  Latter  Day  Mystics  (from  “Earth  and  New 
Earth”). 

Richard  Wightman — The  Pilgrim,  and  The  Servants  (from  “Ashes  and 
Sparks”). 

Cambridge  University  Press  for 

Chas.  Hamilton  Sorley — Selections  from  “Marlborough  and  other  Poems.” 
W.  B.  Conkey  Company  for 

Selections  from  the  collected  poems  of  Ella  Wheeler  Wilcox. 

T.  Y.  Crowell  Company  for 

Selections  from  collected  poems  of  George  Eliot,  Sarah  K.  Bolton,  Alice 
Cary,  Phoebe  Cary. 

George  H.  Doran  Company  for 

Wilton  Agnew  Barrett — A  New  England  Church  (from  “Songs  of  the 
Journey”). 

Joyce  Kilmer— Trees,  and  Poets  (from  “Collected  Poems”). 

Charles  Hanson  Towne — Silence. 

Charles  Hanson  Towne — Of  One  Self-Slain  (from  “A  World  of  Win¬ 
dows”). 

John  Oxenham — Some  Blesseds  (from  “The  Vision  Splendid”). 

E.  P.  Dutton  and  Company  for 

Katharine  Lee  Bates — America  the  Beautiful 

Katharine  Lee  Bates — The  Kings  of  the  East  (from  “The  Return”). 

Mrs.  Edward  Dowden — Adrift. 

Frances  Ridley  Havergal — Reality. 

Frances  Ridley  Havergal — Thou  Art  Coming! 

Winifred  M.  Letts — The  Spires  of  Oxford. 

Sir  Alfred  C.  Lyall — Meditations  of  a  Hindu  Prince. 

George  MacDonald — Prayer. 

George  MacDonald — Lost  and  Found. 

George  MacDonald — That  Holy  Thing. 

St.  Patrick— The  Deer’s  Cry  (from  “Ancient  Irish  Poetry”). 

Sir  Lewis  Morris — Beginnings  of  Faith. 

May  Riley  Smith — The  Uninvited  Guest. 

Double  day ,  Page  and  Company  for 

Rudyard  Kipling — The  Sons  of  Martha. 

Rudyard  Kipling — L’Envoi. 

Edwin  Markham— Poesy  (from  “Gates  of  Paradise  and  other  Poems”). 
Edwin  Markham — Prayer,  and  The  Man  with  the  Hoe  (from  “The  Man 
with  the  Hoe  and  Other  Poems”). 

Edwin  Markham — Revelation  (from  “The  Shoes  of  Happiness  and  other 
Poems”). 

Edwin  Markham — A  Guard  of  the  Sepulcher  (from  “Lincoln  and  other 
Poems”). 

Seumas  MacManus— In  Dark  Hour. 

Walt  Whitman — Five  selections  from  collected  works. 

Duffield  and  Company  for 

Richard  Hovey — Immanence. 

Richard  Hovey — Transcendence. 

Richard  Hovey — Unmanifest  Destiny. 

D.  H.  Lawrence — Dreams  Old  and  Nascent. 

George  Santayana — Two  sonnets. 

William  Sharp  (Fiona.  Macleod)—Y\ve  selections  from  “Collected  Poems.” 


ACKNOWLEDGMENTS 


Vll 


Four  Seas  Company  for 

Richard  Aldington — Vicarious  Atonement. 


Funk  and.  IV agnails  Company  for 
Richard  Realf — The  Word. 

Israel  Zangwill — Selections  from  “Blind  Children.” 


Harcourt,  Brace  and  Company  for 

Louis  Untermeyer — Prayer  (from  “Challenge”). 

Carl  Sandburg — Manufactured  Gods  (from  “Smoke  and  Steel”). 


Harr  Wagner  Company  (San  Francisco)  for 

Joaquin  Miller — The  Fortunate  Isles  (from  “Complete  Poetical  Works”). 

I 

Harper  and  Brothers  for 

Don  Marquis — The  God-Maker,  Man  (from  “Dreams  and  Dust”). 
Algernon  C.  Swinburne — The  Hymn  of  Man. 

Albert  Bigelow  Paine — The  Hills  of  Rest. 


Henry  Holt  and  Company  for 

Arthur  Colton— Harps  Hung  Up  in  Babylon. 

Carl  Sandburg — To  a  Contemporary  Bunkshooter  (from  “Chicago  Poems”). 
Herbert  Trench — I  Seek  Thee  in  the  Heart  Alone. 

Margaret  Widdemer — Barter. 

Margaret  Widdemer — The  New  Victory. 

Margaret  Widdemer — The  Awakened  War  God. 


Houghton,  Mifflin  Company  for 

Selections  from  collected  works  of: 
Joel  Benton 
Anna  H.  Branch 
John  Burroughs 
Christopher  Pearse  Cranch 
Sir  Aubrey  deVere 
Hilda  Doolittle 
Ralph  Waldo  Emerson 
Oliver  W.  Holmes 
Julia  Ward  Howe 
Richard  Watson  Gilder 
John  Hay 
Emma  Lazarus 
Henry  W.  Longfellow 
Samuel  Longfellow 


Amy  Lowell 
James  Russell  Lowell 
Edward  Rowland  Sill 
Wm.  Wetmore  Story 
Edmund  C.  Stedman 
Harriet  Beecher  Stowe 
Henry  D.  Thoreau 
Edith  M.  Thomas 
John  Drinkwater 
Margaret  Deland 
Wm.  Dean  Howells 
Wm.  Vaughn  Moody 
John  G.  Whittier 
Josephine  P.  Peabody 
Jones  Very 


B.  W.  Huebsch  for 

D.  H.  Lawrence — Dreams  Old  and  Nascent  (from  “Amores”). 
Irene  Rutherford  Macleod — The  Rebel. 


Mitchell  Kennerly  for 

Florence  Kiper  Frank — The  Jew  to  Jesus. 

Yone  Noguchi — The  Poet. 

Shaemas  O’Sheel — “They  Went  Forth  to  Battle,  but  They  Always  Fell.” 
Shaemas  O’Sheel — “He  Whom  a  Dream  Hath  Possessed.” 


Alfred  A.  Knopf  for 

Eunice  Tietjens — The  Great  Man. 

'  Osbert  Sitwell — How  Shall  We  Rise  to  Greet  the  Dawn?  (from  “Argonaut 
and  Juggernaut”). 

John  Lane  Company  for 

Lascelles  Abercrombie — Selection  from  “The  Seeker.” 

Rupert  Brooke — Three  Sonnets. 

Ethel  Clifford — The  Harp  of  Sorrow  (from  “Songs  and  Dreams”). 

William  J.  Dawson — Inspirations  (from  “America  and  Other  Poems”). 

Ernest  Dowson — Vitae  Summae  Brevis  (from  “Collected  Poems”). 


ACKNOWLEDGMENTS 


G.  K.  Chesterton— Five  selections  from  “Collected  Poems.” 

Angela  Morgan — Hail  Man!  and  God  Prays!  (from  “Forward  March”). 

Sir  Henry  Newbolt — The  Final  Mystery. 

Stephen  Philipps — Grief  and  God,  and  The  Poet’s  Prayer  (from  “New 
Poems”). 

Francis  Thompson — Three  selections  from  “Collected  Works.” 

Richard  Le  Gallienne — The  Second  Crucifixion. 

Little,  Brown  and  Company  for 

Selections  from  collected  works  of: 

Edwin  Arnold 
Francis  W.  Bourdillon 
John  White  Chadwick 
Emily  Dickinson 
Helen  Hunt  Jackson 
Jean  Ingelow 
Edward  Everett  Hale 

Longmans,  Green  and  Company  for 

Eva  Gore  Booth — Harvest. 

Eva  Gore  Booth— Crucifixion. 

William  Morris — The  Day  is  Coming. 

Lothrop,  Lee  and  Shepard  Company  for 

Richard  Burton — God’s  Garden  and  The  Song  of  the  Unsuccessful  (from 
“Message  and  Melody”). 

Alfred  Domett — A  Christmas  Hymn. 

Sam  Walter  Foss — The  Higher  Catechism,  and  The  House  by  the  Side  of 
the  Road  (from  “Dreams  in  Homespun”). 

Ednah  D.  Cheney — The  Larger  Prayer. 

Thomas  Bird  Mosher  for 

Thomas  S.  Jones,  jr. — The  Path  of  the  Stars  (from  “A  Voice  in  the 
Silence”). 

Lizette  Woodworth  Reese — A  Little  Song  of  Life  (from  “A  Wayside 
Lute”). 

John  Addington  Symonds — Invocation,  and  The  Human  Outlook  (from 
“Collected  Poems”). 

Arthur  W.  Upson — Failures  (from  “Collected  Poems”). 

John  Vance  Cheney — The  Happiest  Heart. 

Ncwbegin  for 

Thomas  Edward  Brown.- — Disguises,  and  My  Garden. 

The  Oxford  University  Press  for 

Rhys  Carpenter — The  Master  Singers. 

Rhys  Carpenter — Who  Bids  Us  Sing?  (from  “The  Sun-Thief  and  Other 
Poems”). 

John  Clare — The  Peasant  Poet. 

William  Rider  and  Son  for 

Arthur  Edward  Waite — Selections  from  “Collected  PcemSi” 

G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons  for 

T,Vm.  H.  Carruth — Each  in  His  Own  Tongue  and  other  Poems. 

Jeannette  Gilder — My  Creed  ( Putnam’s  Magazine). 

Ella  Heath — Poetry. 

Charles  Hamilton  Sorley— The  Seekers,  Expectans  Expectavi,  and  another 
selection  from  “Marlborough.” 

A.  M.  Robertson  (San  Francisco)  for 

George  Sterling — Omnia  Exeunt  in  Mysterium  (from  “The  Breakers”). 

Sidgwick  and  Jackson  for 

Lawrence  Housman — The  Continuing  City  (from  “Selected  Poems”). 
Katherine  Tynan  Hinkson — Three  selected  poems. 


ACKNOWLEDGMENTS 


IX 


Elliott  Stock  (London)  for 

H.  C.  Leonard — Selections  from  “Sacred  Songs  of  the  World.” 

Charles  Scribner’s  Sons  for 

Selections  from  collected  poems  of: 

Maltbie  Babcock. 

Map"  Mapes  Dodge. 

Josiah  Gilbert  Holland. 

Sidney  Lanier. 

Alan  Seeger. 

Robert  Louis  Stevenson. 

Henry  van  Dyke. 

John  Hall  Wheelock. 

Skeffington  &  Sons  (London)  for 

John  S.  Arkwright — The  Supreme  Sacrifice. 

F.  A.  Stokes  Company  for  . 

Stephen  Crane — The  Peaks  (from  “War  is  Kind”). 

Talbot  Press  (Dublin,  Ireland)  for 

Joseph  Mary  Plunkett — I  See  His  Blood  upon  the  Rose. 

James  T.  White  and  Company  for 

Thomas  Curtis  Clark — Selections  from  “Love  Off  to  the  War.” 


MAGAZINES 


Asia  Magazine  for 

Rabindranath  Tagore — Autumn. 

The  Chap-Book  (London)  for 

Shane  Leslie — Priest  or  Poet. 

The  Detroit  Free  Press  for 

Elizabeth  York  Case — There  Is  No  Unbelief. 

The  Masses  for 

Max  Eastman — Invocation. 

Max  Eastman — At  the  Aquarium. 

Sarah  N.  Cleghorn — Comrade  Jesus. 

New  York  Sun  for 

Charles  Wharton  Stork — God,  You  Have  Been  too  Good  to  Me. 

The  Outlook  for 

Hamlin  Garland — The  Cry  of  the  Age. 

The  Poetry  Review  (London)  for 
Ivan  Adair — Real  Presence. 

Saturday  Review  (London)  for 

Louis  Golding — Second  Seeing. 

Scribner’s  Magazine  for 

Theodosia  Garrison — Stains. 

Yale  University  Press  for 

Karle  Wilson  Baker — Creeds,  Good  Company,  the  Ploughman  (from  “Blue 
Smoke”). 

William  Rose  Benet — The  Falconer  of  God  (from  “The  Falconer  of  God 
and  Other  Poems”). 

Gamaliel  Bradford — God  (from  “Shadow  Verses”). 

William  A,  Percy — Farmers  (from  “In  April  Once”). 


x 


ACKNOWLEDGMENTS 


And  to  the  following  authors: 

James  Vila  Blake- — In  Him. 

Witter  Bynner — Ecce  Homo. 

Witter  Bynner — The  New  God. 

John  Vance  Cheney— The  Happiest  Heart. 

Rhys  Carpenter — The  Master  Singers. 

Rhys  Carpenter — Who  Bids  Us  Sing? 

Alice  Corbin  Henderson — Nodes. 

Dudley  Foulke — The  City. 

Arthur  Guiterman— In  the  Hospital. 

Fanny  Heaslip  Lea — The  Dead  Faith. 

Shane  Leslie — Priest  or  Poet. 

Harold  Monro — God  (from  “Dawn”). 

Angela  Morgan — Reality,  the  Poet,  Hail  Man!  and  God  Prays. 
James  Oppenheim — The  New  God. 

James  Oppenheim — Death. 

Edwin  Ford  Piper- — The  Church. 

Mrs.  William  Sharp — Selections  from  W.  Sharp  ( Fiona  Macleod) . 
Victor  Starbuck — The  Seekers. 

Arthur  Edward  Waite— At  the  End  of  Things. 

Seumas  MacManus — In  Dark  Hour. 

John  Oxenham — Seeds. 

Kenneth  Saunders — Translation  of  Proofs  of  Buddha’s  Existence. 


The  generous  cooperation  of  poets  and  publishers  has 
made  possible  the  inclusion  of  many  poems  which  are 
still  in  copyright.  We  wish  to  express  our  grateful 
obligation  to  those  poets  who  have  added  their  per¬ 
mission  to  that  of  their  publishers. 


EDITOR’S  PREFACE 


The  most  obvious  facts  about  this  collection  of  poetry  are 
that  it  is  not  all  great  and  that  it  makes  strange  combinations 
and  sequences.  It  ranges  from  the  Psalms  of  David  and  the 
Hymn  of  Cleanthes  to  the  latest  free  verse.  The  great  ‘hymns 
that  are  translated  from  the  Latin  and  the  most  radical  of  the 
twentieth  century  verse  are  alike  only  in  that  they  show  human 
feeling  about  the  concept  that  is  the  foundation  of  all  religion. 
Many  poems  that  are  far  from  being  great  belong  here  because 
they  are  significant. 

There  are  some  persons  who  say  that  our  age  has  no  religion ; 
others  say  it  is  more  sincerely  religious  than  any  of  the  great 
ages  of  faith  that  are  gone.  The  most  intelligent  thought  of  the 
present  bases  the  authority  of  religion,  not  upon  revelation,  but 
upon  the  nature  of  man.  Man’s  hunger  for  God  is  as  funda¬ 
mental  and  legitimate  as  his  hunger  for  food  and  love.  Our 
age  may  be  lost  as  to  what  it  should  believe,  but  we  were  never 
so  sure  that  we  must  and  do  believe.  The  good  swimmer  knows 
best  how  to  trust  the  water;  the  best  life  is  most  reliant  upon 
what  some  call  the  Integrity  of  the  Universe  and  one  of  the 
greatest  poets  called  the  Everlasting  Arms. 

The  great  poets  have  always  spoken  with  authority.  In 
them  has  the  Word  been  made  flesh.  Now  a  war-weary  world 
in  search  of  faith  turns  to  them. 

The  Bible  is  an  anthology  of  Hebrew  literature — the  Great 
Anthology.  If  no  future  poets  ever  rise  to  so  great  a  height  of 
constructive  imagination  as  those  of  the  classic  Hebrew  period 
it  will  always  remain  the  Bible  of  the  race.  A  cursory  view  of 
other  religious  poetry  shows  little  that  is  not  based  upon  the 
biblical  poetry,  but  the  spiritual  assets  of  mankind  have  never 
been  gathered  together  that  we  may  see  what  they  are.  This 
book  is  a  step  in  that  direction. 

Its  purpose  is  to  furnish  delightful  reading,  to  give  comfort 


xi 


Xll 


EDITOR’S  PREFACE 


and  consolation,  to  “restore  the  soul”  as  well  as  to  supply  ma^ 
terial  for  the  study  of  the  history  and  psychology  of  religion — 
the  last  subject  to  be  approached  by  scientific  methods. 

The  poems  have  been  arranged  in  twelve  divisions  under  the 
twelve  religious  concepts,  a  few  of  which  have  been  arranged 
chronologically.  The  Idea  of  God  is  the  core  of  the  collection 
and  furnishes  the  clue  for  the  study  of  the  thought  moulds  of 
different  periods  of  thought.  The  longing  for  companionship 
with  God  has  the  highest  emotional  coloring  of  any  of  the 
approaches  to  Reality.  The  Faith  section  contains  many  poems 
of  doubt  which  represent  the  work  of  the  groping  intellect. 
Merely  sentimental  poetry  has  been  avoided. 

The  poems  of  Nature  and  of  the  Search  after  God  will  be 
perhaps  the  most  interesting  to  the  twentieth  century.  Nature 
makes  mystics  of  us  all.  The  section  on  Immortality  will  be 
eagerly  sought  by  those  who  are  already  sending  their  souls 
through  the  invisible,  “some  letter  of  that  after  life  to  spell.” 

The  cumulative  effect  of  reading  so  many  religious  poems,  of 
seeing  so  many  glimpses  of  the  invisible  through  so  many  eyes 
and  during  so  many  centuries  is  both  elevating  and  sobering. 
To  know  only  hymns  is  to  be  carried  away  against  one’s  will, 
but  to  read  the  world  poetry  of  religion  is  to  be  convinced  by 
a  cloud  of  witnesses.  There  must  be  a  spiritual  world.  The 
telescope  and  the  microscope  and  the  X-ray  have  opened  new 
worlds  to  us.  What  is  there  that  will  open  the  spiritual  world  ? 

A  common  language  might  be  a  great  step  to  knowledge  of 
spiritual  things.  The  oriental  religions,  Christianity  and  the 
modern  cults  all  use  different  terms,  but  seek  the  same  realities. 
There  was  a  prophet-poet  who  lived  in  Galilee  who  said  “I  am 
the  Way.”  The  path  He  took,  with  all  the  greatest  saints  of 
all  religions  is  the  only  path  we  know  to  the  Other  World.  His 
language  regarding  the  eternal  verities  has  been  the  greatest 
unifying  force  ever  projected  into  the  world  of  human  rela¬ 
tions.  The  language  of  poetry  is  universal  and  may  lead  to 
the  outer  gate. 


Caroline  Miles  Hill,  Ph.D. 


INTRODUCTION 


THE  RELIGIOUS  SPIRIT  IN  THE  WORLD’S  POETRY 

Herbert  L.  Willett,  Ph.D. 

It  is  significant  that  the  narrative  of  world  beginnings  with 
which  the  Bible  opens  has  been  called  the  Poem  of  Creation. 
For  though  it  purports  to  describe  the  origin  of  the  heavens 
and  the  earth  in  accordance  with  the  inherited  tradition  of  the 
Semitic  peoples,  it  handles  the  materials  of  that  tradition  with 
the  masterful  genius  of  the  poet,  the  true  creator  of  fresh  and 
inspiring  ideals.  It  is  the  type  and  symbol  of  all  real  poetry. 
It  is  rhythmical,  artistic,  imaginative,  and  marked  by  the  crea¬ 
tive  passion  that  reforms  and  vitalizes  the  common  materials 
and  conceptions  of  a  time,  and  brings  into  being  a  majestic, 
beautiful  and  inspiring  work  of  art. 

All  poetry  that  is  worthy  of  the  name  is  essentially  creative. 
There  may  be  verses  that  conform  in  all  the  outward  marks  of 
rhyme  and  metre  to  poetic  canons,  and  yet  are  only  the  assem¬ 
bling  of  words  in  description  or  argument.  Poetry  moves  on 
the  higher  levels  of  power  and  emotion.  It  is  the  product  of  a 
maker  of  ideas,  not  a  finder  and  collector  of  phrases.  In  all 
poetic  writing  that  has  possessed  the  power  of  survival,  some¬ 
thing  of  this  high  and  impressive  quality  resides.  Only  the 
creative  artist  is  gifted  with  the  ability  to  take  the  common 
facts  and  experiences  of  human  life  and  invest  them  with  the 
character  of  epic  and  enduring  realities.  As  Ruskin  has  in¬ 
sisted,  he  is  not  a  mere  troubadour  or  finder;  he  is  a  poet,  a 
creator. 

Poetry  is  the  natural  language  of  youth,  freedom,  joyousness 
and  love  of  beauty.  It  is  therefore  the  language  of  childhood, 
and  of  the  youth  of  the  race.  The  great  poetry  that  has  sur¬ 
vived  the  centuries  is  rarely  the  result  of  formal  compliance 
with  rule  and  convention.  It  is  the  bold,  free,  spontaneous 


Xlll 


XIV 


INTRODUCTION 


utterance  of  the  youthful  spirit  of  romance,  adventure,  admira¬ 
tion,  the  quest  of  the  wonder  and  mystery  of  the  world.  What¬ 
ever  touches  the  soul  of  man  with  the  sense  of  marvel,  of 
yearning  and  hope,  kindles  the  flame  of  poetic  passion  and 
speech. 

Of  all  the  interests  which  have  engaged  the  attention  of 
humanity,  religion  has  proved  the  most  powerful  and  the  most 
inspiring.  It  is  only  one  among  many  such  objects  of  attention, 
but  it  appears  the  most  pervasive  and  unescapable.  Men  have 
concerned  themselves  with  a  great  variety  of  affairs,  such  as 
food,  clothing,  shelter,  mating,  family  life,  industry,  war, 
government,  institutions,  customs  and  traditions.  But  above  all 
there  has  been  the  brooding  and  persistent  sense  of  relationship 
with  higher  powers.  Inspired  by  that  sense  the  innumerable 
expressions  of  the  religious  life  have  taken  form  in  doctrine  and 
ritual.  Hardly  a  community  in  all  the  world  is  without  them. 
Individuals  there  are  who  appear  to  be  religionless,  but  no  race 
or  nation  or  tribe.  It  would  seem  to  be  the  most  essential 
characteristic  of  the  intellectual  and  emotional  life  of  mankind. 

If  this  is  true,  it  is  not  strange  that  the  poetry  of  religion 
should  be  the  most  natural  and  universal  sort  of  composition. 
The  spirit  of  man  seeks  expression  for  its  most  elemental  feel¬ 
ings  in  the  elevated  phrases  of  rhythmic  speech.  Other  forms 
of  verse  have  occupied  the  attention  of  the  bards  and  singers 
of  all  the  ages,  but  religion  has  had  the  primal  place.  This  is 
true  in  a  double  sense.  The  themes  deliberately  chosen  by  the 
great  poets,  as  by  the  supreme  artists  in  other  areas  of  human 
interest,  have  been  those  related  to  the  moral  and  spiritual  life. 
It  is  largely  true  that  the  masterpieces  of  painting,  sculpture, 
architecture  and  music,  as  well  as  poetry,  have  had  a  religious 
theme  or  purpose.  In  a  very  real  sense  they  were  works  of 
devotion,  the  effort  to  give  artistic  utterance  to  the  mood  of 
worship.  But  it  is  also  true  that  the  best  product  of  the 
artistic  mind  is  essentially  religious.  The  purpose  to  put  into 
an  epic,  a  statue,  a  landscape,  an  edifice  or  a  symphony  the 
supreme  effort  of  which  the  artist  is  capable,  with  the  resolution 
to  make  it  an  instrument  of  education,  happiness,  and  inspira¬ 
tion  to  noble  ideals  and  worthful  living,  is  truly  religious. 
Indeed  it  is  doubtful  if  any  genuinely  great  work  of  the  sort 
can  be  successfully  performed  without  the  religious  motive. 


INTRODUCTION 


xv 


One  of  the  sure  tests  of  great  poetry  is  its  power  of  survival. 
The  race  preserves  what  it  prizes.  To  be  sure  there  are  trage-. 
dies  that  destroy  some  of  the  past’s  incalculable  hoard  of  liter¬ 
ary  treasures.  Many  of  the  Greek  dramas  were  swept  away 
in  the  fire  that  destroyed  the  Alexandrian  library  when  Omar, 
the  Moslem,  burned  that  priceless  collection  of  documents.  But 
in  most  instances  the  books  and  other  writings  that  have  won 
their  way  to  the  souls  of  men  have  been  preserved  and  handed 
on.  Probably  this  is  the  reason  why  so  much  of  the  poetry 
that  has  come  down  from  the  distant  past  is  of  the  religious 
character.  But  the  same  sifting  process  will  decide  between  the 
best  and  the  second  best  in  this  and  all  later  days.  The  larger 
number  of  the  poems  that  endure  will  continue  to  deal  with 
religion. 

From  all  the  centuries  and  from  all  the  nations,  these  poems 
of  the  faith  have  come.  The  life  of  God  is  limited  to  no  nation 
or  age.  He  has  never  left  Himself  without  witness  among  any 
people.  The  Babylonian  records  of  the  beginnings  of  time 
were  hymns  in  celebration  of  Marduk  and  the  other  gods  of 
the  pantheon.  The  Assyrians  treasured  the  temple  psalms  in 
honor  of  Asshur  and  Ishtar.  The  Egyptians  paid  the  tribute 
of  prayers  and  honorific  inscriptions  to  Ammon,  Mut  and 
Khonsu.  The  ancient  Aryans  of  India  composed  their  Vedic 
hymns  to  the  glory  of  Brahma,  Vishnu  and  Siva.  The  Greeks 
immortalized  their  religious  conceptions  in  their  epics  and 
tragedies,  and  made  the  names  of  Zeus,  Artemis  and  Apollo 
familiar  to  the  whole  of  the  Mediterranean  world.  In  all 
the  other  regions  of  the  east  and  west  the  worship  of  the 
Eternal  has  provided  the  central  theme  of  poetic  inspiration, 
though  the  names  by  which  He  has  been  known  have  been  as 
varied  as  the  hundred  divine  titles  graven  on  Akbar’s  tomb. 

The  literature  of  religion  is  as  farflung  as  humanity.  Every 
people  has  had  its  bible.  Much  of  this  holy  writing  was  in 
the  form  of  poetry.  Nothing  less  artistic  and  elevated  was 
deemed  worthy  of  the  faith.  It  was  natural,  therefore,  that  the 
Hebrew  writings  that  have  survived  to  us  should  deal  with  the 
central  theme  of  religion.  They  are  a  curious  illustration  of 
the  fact  that  religious  material  tended  always  to  take  precedence 
of  other  writings  in  their  survival  value.  The  Hebrews  must 
have  had  a  considerable  body  of  writings  of  various  sorts  during 


XVI 


INTRODUCTION 


the  classic  period  while  Hebrew  was  a  living  speech.  Yet,  all 
•that  has  survived  to  us  is  the  collection  we  know  as  the  Old 
Testament,  and  this  deals  almost  wholly  with  the  religious 
life  of  the  nation.  Furthermore,  a  large  portion  of  this  surviv¬ 
ing  group  of  documents  is  poetic  in  form.  The  Book  of  Job  is 
the  unapproached  masterpiece  of  the  ages.  The  Psalms  are  the 
most  beautiful  of  lyrics  dealing  with  the  life  of  trust.  The 
Proverbs  are  a  marvellous  anthology  of  wit  and  wisdom  based 
upon  the  moral  ideals  of  the  sages.  Much  of  the  preaching  of 
the  prophets  is  in  the  form  of  poetic  oracles,  and  even  the  prose 
narratives  of  national  life  are  made  vivid  by  the  use  of  such 
ancient  poems  as  the  Song  by  the  Sea,  the  Song  of  Deborah, 
and  the  Song  of  the  Bow. 

The  New  Testament,  the  source-book  for  a  study  of  the 
origins  of  Christianity,  is  less  moved  by  the  poetic  motive  than 
the  older  collection.  Its  writers  were  the  friends  of  Jesus,  who 
went  forth  in  a  sort  of  breathless  haste  to  tell  the  story  of  his 
life  and  work.  The  Gospels  are  brief  and  simple  narratives  of 
the  Master’s  ministry.  The  Book  of  Acts  is  a  short  and  vivid 
record  of  the  beginnings  of  the  new  society.  The  Epistles  are 
direct  and  searching  messages  to  churches  and  individuals  who 
needed  instruction.  And  the  Apocalypse  is  a  fierce  and  force¬ 
ful  denunciation  of  the  imperial  power  of  Rome,  and  a 
triumphant  announcement  of  its  speedy  overthrow.  Here  is 
little  opportunity  for  the  poetic  spirit  to  utter  itself.  And  yet 
from  the  pages  of  the  New  Testament  have  come  such  great 
hymns  as  the  Gloria  in  Excelsis,  the  Ave  Maria,  the  Nunc 
Dimittis,  the  Benedictus,  Paul’s  Psalm  of  Love,  and  the  com¬ 
forting  and  exultant  songs  of  the  Revelation. 

Such  a  group  of  writings  as  the  Bible  contains,  selected  from 
a  vastly  larger  literature,  and  made  the  canon  of  religious 
instruction  and  the  manual  of  devotion  for  the  whole  of 
Christendom,  could  hardly  fail  to  stimulate  the  production  of  a 
vast  body  of  writings  through  all  the  centuries  since  the  days 
of  Jesus.  It  is  of  every  sort,  historical,  sermonic,  doctrinal, 
apologetic,  expository  and  devotional.  But  perhaps  no  order 
of  literature  dealing  with  the  Christian  religion  has  equalled  in 
volume  the  poetry  which  it  has  inspired.  Men  and  women 
who  have  had  no  zest  for  formal  treatises  regarding  the  faith 
have  poured  out  their  souls  in  poems  which  have  become 


INTRODUCTION 


XVII 


immortal.  Movements  and  crises  come  and  go  in  the  history  of 
religion;  controversies  break  out  and  die  away;  sects,  parties 
and  denominations  rise  and  decline;,  but  the  stream  of  poetic 
reflection  upon  the  supreme  facts  of  life  and  death  is  constant 
and  refreshing.  It  is  little  concerned  with  the  disputes  of 
theologians  or  the  researches  of  critics.  It  is  above  the  sky¬ 
line  of  creedal  animosities.  It  is  the  utterance  of  those  who  are 
seeking  the  inner  way  which  the  pilgrims  of  all  the  ages  have 
trodden  toward  the  city  of  God. 

The  poetry  of  religion  is  as  varied  as  are  the  experiences  of 
humanity  in  its  experiments  with  the  great  mystery  of  the 
soul’s  relationship  to  God.  In  the  anthology  of  the  singers  of 
the  faith  there  are  all  sorts  of  voices,  and  all  moods  of  the 
spirit.  As  in  the  Bible  itself,  so  in  this  larger  bible  of  the  ages, 
all  notes  are  struck  from  those  of  rapturous  confidence  to 
those  of  darkest  doubt  and  uttermost  despair.  The  vast  prob¬ 
lems  of  sorrow,  sin,  temptation,  failure,  scepticism,  cynicism, 
inquiry,  hope,  confidence,  attainment,  and  rapturous  fulfilment 
are  all  included  in  the  many-sided  complex  of  expression  which 
is  taking  form  in  the  ever-changing  multitude  of  human  striv¬ 
ings  for  life.  Seekers  after  God  are  all  the  sons  of  men.  He 
is  the  soul’s  companion  and  necessity.  But  who  of  all  the  race 
have  found  and  fully  known  Him?  Only  those  choice  spirits 
whom  history  has  enshrined  as  the  prophets  of  the  faith. 
Them,  and  One  who  passed  this  way,  not  so  long  ago,  and  not 
so  far  from  where  we  dwell;  One  whose  words  hang  in  the  air 
like  banners,  and  whose  sentences  walk  through  all  the  earth  like 
spirits.  These  have  known,  and  they  have  stretched  the  terms 
of  human  speech  to  their  utmost  tension  to  give  us  some 
adequate  conception  of  the  great  reality. 

Next  after  the  prophets,  in  whose  ranks  the  Master  finds 
his  appointed  place,  come  the  poets,  whose  eyes  have  seen  some¬ 
thing  of  the  vision,  whose  hearts  have  been  stirred  by  the 
divine  emotion,  and  out  of  these  rich  experiences  they  have 
given  us  their  interpretations  of  the  mystery.  They  do  not  deal 
in  argument.  They  have  little  formal  logic  or  careful  science 
to  bring  to  our  aid.  But  they  provide  us  with  a  knowledge  that 
comes  only  from  the  depths  of  emotion  and  the  wells  of  expe¬ 
rience.  And  so  they  have  made  us  their  continual  debtors, 
for  we  have  little  to  draw  with,  and  the  wells  are  deep 


XV111 


INTRODUCTION 


Though  the  poets  speak  in  all  tones  of  confidence  or  doubt,  their 
best  messages  are  those  of  assurance,  and  they  leave  us  with 
the  conviction  that  it  is  faith  and  not  denial  that  has  the  last 
word. 

Such  an  anthology  of  religious  poetry  as  has  been  attempted 
in  this  volume  must,  in  the  nature  of  the  case,  be  limited  to  a 
small  portion  of  the  great  total  of  such  materials  lying  at  hand 
in  the  storehouse  of  the  years.  To  make  selection  where  the 
store  is  so  rich  and  so  abundant  is  an  act  of  courage.  Along 
the  fringes  of  the  collection  there  will  be  room  for  much 
variation  of  judgment.  Some  things  will  be  missed  that  one 
would  have  included ;  some  are  given  place  that  one  would  have 
passed  by.  This  would  be  true  of  any  such  amalgam  of 
religious  poetry.  But  the  heart  and  core  of  the  best  works  of 
the  spirit  of  reverence  and  devotion  which  the  years  have 
produced  will  be  found  here.  And  that  is  much;  perhaps  it  is 
enough.  To  wander  through  the  aisles  of  this  great  cathedral 
of  music  and  song;  to  thread  these  forest  paths  where  the 
saints  have  walked;  to  drink  of  these  streams  m  which  the 
generations  of  suffering  and  rejoicing  pilgrims  of  the  holy  life 
have  quenched  their  thirst — this  is  itself  a  joy  and  an  enrich¬ 
ment,  a  renewal  of  fellowship  with  the  best  who  have  gone  this 
way,  a  fresh  discovery  of  the  eternal  secret  of  friendship  with 
God. 


THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS 

POETRY 

A  collection  from  all  ages  and  several  languages 
arranged  under  the  following  headings : 

I.  INSPIRATION. 

a.  How  to  the  Singer  Comes  the  Song? 

b.  Whence  to  the  Singer  Comes  the  Song? 

II.  THE  SEARCH  AFTER  GOD. 

a.  The  Successful  Searchers. 

b.  The  Unsuccessful  Searchers. 

III.  THE  IDEA  OF  GOD. 

a.  Pre-Christian. 

b.  Early  Christian  and  Mediaeval. 

c. .  Sixteenth  and  Seventeenth  Centuries. 

d.  Eighteenth  Century. 

e.  Nineteenth  Century. 

f.  Twentieth  Century. 

IV.  FAITH. 

a.  The  Old  Faith. 

b.  Modern  Faith. 

c.  New  Voices. 

V.  GOD  IN  NATURE. 

a.  Immanence  in  Nature  in  General. 

b.  The  Country. 

c.  Trees. 

d.  Gardens  and  Flowers. 

e.  Animals. 

f.  The  Heavens. 

g.  Mountains. 

h.  The  Ocean. 

VI.  GOD  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN. 

a.  Immanent  in  the  Soul. 

b.  Revealed  in  the  Life  of  Christ. 

c.  Revealed  in  the  Guidance  of  Individual  Lives. 

d.  Revealed  in  Historical  Events. 

e.  Embodied  in  Groups  or  Organizations  of  Individuals. 

1.  In  the  Family. 

2.  In  the  City. 

3.  In  the  Church. 


VII.  PRAYERS. 

a.  Descriptions  of  Prayer. 

b.  General  Prayers. 

c.  Prayers  of  Invocation. 

d.  Prayers  for  Comfort  in  Prospect  of  Death. 

e.  Prayers  for  Guidance. 

f.  Prayers  of  Gratitude. 

g.  War  Prayers. 

h.  Prayers  for  Special  Things. 

VIII.  WORSHIP. 

a.  Pre-Christian  Period. 

b.  Early  Christian  and  Mediaeval. 

c.  Reformation  Period. 

d.  Seventeenth  Century. 

e.  Evangelical  Period. 

f.  Nineteenth  Century. 

g.  Twentieth  Century. 

IX.  COMFORT  IN  SORROW. 

a.  Submission  to  the  Will  of  God. 

b.  The  Ministry  of  Pain. 

c.  Bravery  Is  Its  Own  Consolation. 

d.  Victory  on  the  Spiritual  Plane. 

e.  Is  There  No  Immediate  Relief? 

X.  CONDUCT  OF  LIFE. 

a.  Personal. 

1.  High  Aims. 

2.  Self-Control. 

3.  Work. 

4.  Humility. 

5.  Opportunity. 

6.  Loyalty  to  Your  Best  Self. 

7.  Loyalty  to  Duty. 

8.  Creeds. 

b.  Social — God  in  All  Great  Movements. 

1.  Social  Struggle. 

2.  National  Affairs. 

3.  International  Affairs. 

XI.  DEATH  AND  IMMORTALITY. 

a.  Personal  Immortality. 

b.  Impersonal  Immortality. 

c.  Eternal  Rest. 

XII.  THE  NATURE  OF  THE  FUTURE  LIFE. 

a.  The  Mediaeval  Conception — The  City  Supernal. 

b.  The  Modern  Conception. 

1.  There  Is  a  Future  Life  But  We  Do  Not  Know 

What  It  Is. 

2.  We  Are  Builders  of  the  City  on  Earth. 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 


t.  INSPIRATION 

a.  Kow  to  the  Singer  Comes  the  Song? 

Benton,  Joel  . The  Poet . . . . 

Blake,  William  . The  Bard  . . 

Bourdillon,  Francis  W . From  “A  Lost  God”  . 

Browning,  Eliz.  Barrett . The  Poet  . 

Clare,  John  . The  Peasant  Poet  . . 

Clarke,  Thomas  Curtis . The  Poet’s  Call . » . 

Cowper,  William  . Fragment  . 

Cranch,  Christopher  Pearse.  ..  Thought  . . . 

Dawson,  William  James . Inspirations  . 

Firdausi  (tr.  by  A.  V.  W.  Jack- 

son)  . The  Dream  of  Dakiki . 

Gibson,  Wilfrid  W . Inspiration  . 

Gilder,  Richard  W . How  to  the  Singer  Comes  the 

Song?  . 

Heath,  Ella  . Poetry  . 

Kilmer,  Joyce  . Poets  . 

Lecky,  Wm.  E.  H . Of  an  Old  Song  . 

,  Longfellow,  Henry  W . The  Fate  of  the  Prophets  (From 

The  Divine  Tragedy) . 

Lowell,  Amy  . The  Poet  . 

Markham,  Edwin  . The  Poet . 

Mifflin,  Lloyd  . Sovereign  Poets  . 

Noguchi,  Yone  . The  Poet  . 

Pushkin,  Alexander  . The  Prophet  . 

Tabb,  John  B . Inspiration  . 

Teasdale,  Sara  . Song  Making  . . . 

Watson,  William  . The  Sovereign  Poet  . 

b.  Whence  to  the  Singer  Comes  the  Song? 

Carpenter,  Rhys  . Who  Bids  Us  Sing?  . . 

Carpenter,  Rhys  . The  Master  Singers  . 

Emerson,  Ralph  Waldo . .The  Problem  . 

Howell,  Elizabeth  Lloyd  . Milton’s  Prayer  for  Patience  .... 

Johnson,  Samuel  . Inspiration  . 

Lowell,  Amy  . Fragment  . 

Lowell,  James  Russell . God  Is  Not  Dumb  (From  Bibliol¬ 
ater)  . .  . , . 

Morgan,  Angela . ....The  Poet  . . 


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xix 


XX 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 


O  Sheel,  Shaemas  . He  Whom  a  Dream  Hath  Pos¬ 
sessed  . 

Sharp,  William  (Fiona  Mac- 

leod)  . The  Founts  of  Song . 

Thoreau,  Henry  David . Inspiration  . 

White,  Edward  Lucas  . Genius  . 

II.  THE  SEARCH  AFTER  GOD 

a.  The  Successful  Searchers 

Browning,  Robert . From  “Pauline”  . 

Browning,  Robert . The  Awakening  of  Man  (From 

“Paracelsus,”  pt.  V) . 

Buddhist  Sisters . A  Psalm  of  the  Early  Buddhist 

Sisters  . , . 

Carman,  Bliss  . Vestigia  . 

Clarke,  Thomas  Curtis . The  Search  . 

Davies,  Mary  Carolyn . Feet  . 

Dowden.  Edward  . Seeking  God  . 

Gale,  Norman  . Child  of  Loneliness  . 

Hey  wood,  Thomas  . . . Hierarchie  of  the  Blessed  Angel.. 

Holley,  Horace  . The  Hill  . 

MacDonald,  George  . Lost  and  Found  . 

Markham,  Edwin  . Revelation  . 

Moulton's  Modern  Readers’ 

Bible  (XLII)  . The  Search  . 

Robinson,  Edward  Arlington  ..Credo  . 

Russell,  George  Wm . The  Unknown  God  . 

Scudder,  Eliza . Who  by  Searching  Can  Find  God? 

Teasdale.  Sara  . Mastery  . 

Tennyson,  Alfred . Doubt  (From  “In  Memoriam,” 

XCVI)  . 

Tennyson,  Alfred . ..The  Larger  Hope  (From  “In  Me¬ 
moriam,”  LVI)  . 

Thompson,  Francis . In  No  Strange  Land  . 

Thompson,  Francis . The  Hound  of  Heaven  . 

Waite,  Arthur  Edward . At  the  End  of  Things . 

Watson,  William . God-Seeking  . 

Wooley,  Celia  Parker  . Refracted  Lights  . 

Zoroaster  (tr.  by  A.  V.  W.  Jack- 

son)  . Zoroaster  Devoutly  Questions  Or- 

mazd  . 

b.  The  Unsuccessful  Searchers 

Benet,  William  Rose  . .The  Falconer  of  God . 

Bradford,  Gamaliel  . God  . 

Branch,  Anna  Hempstead  . An  Unbeliever  . 

Chesterton,  Gilbert  K.  . . The  Wild  Knight . 

Eastman,  Max  . At  the  Aquarium  . 

Herrick,  Robert  . To  Finde  God  . 


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58 

59 
6r 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 


Job  XI,  7-8  (From  Moulton’s 

Modern  Readers’  Bible )  . Job’s  Comforters  . 

Khayyam,  Omar  (tr.  by  Ed¬ 
ward  Fitzgerald)  . From  the  Rubaiyat . 

Lindsay,  Vachel  . I  Went  Down  Into  the  Desert  to 

Meet  Elijah  . 

Lyall,  Sir  Alfred  C . Meditations  of  a  Hindu  Prince.. 

Masefield,  John  . The  Seekers  . 

Rice,  Cale  Young . The  Mystic  . 

Starbuck,  Victor  . The  Seekers  . 

Underwood,  Wilbur  . The  Cattle  of  His  Hand . 


C.  The  Search  Is  Its  Own  Reward 

Browning,  Robert  . 

Foss,  Sam  Walter  . 

Hodgson,  Ralph  . 

Holland,  Josiah  G . 

Meynell,  Alice  . 

Sassoon,  Siegfried  . 

Sorley,  Charles  Hamilton  . . 
Sorley,  Charles  Hamilton  . . 
Watson,  William  .  . 


A  Grammarian’s  Funeral 
The  Higher  Catechism  . 

The  Mystery  . 

Gradatim  . 

Via,  Veritas,  et  Vita  .  .  . 

Before  Day  . 

The  Seekers  . 

From  Marlborough  . . . . 
Epigram  . 


III.  THE  EXISTENCE  AND  IDEA  OF  GOD 

a.  Pre-Christian 
East  Indian 

Rig-Veda,  X,  129  (1500  B.C.)..  Brahma  The  World  Idea . 

Anon.  (Fourth  Century  B.C.) ..  Proofs  of  Buddha’s  Existence.... 
Egyptian  and  Babylonian.  See  Section  VIII  a. 

See  also  Sections  II,  III,  V,  VI,  VIII,  IX,  XI  and  XII  for  Psalms. 

b.  Early  Christian  and  Mediaeval 

Seneca  . The  End  of  Being . 

Rascas,  Bernard  . The  Love  of  God  (From  the  Pro¬ 
vencal)  . 

Panatattu  (E.  Indian,  10th  Cen¬ 
tury  A.D.)  . The  Unity  of  God  . 

Panatattu  (E.  Indian,  10th  Cen¬ 
tury  A.D.)  . True  Knowledge . . . 

See  also  the  Hymns  in  Section  VIII. 


C.  Sixteenth  and  Seventeenth  Centuries 

de  Aldana,  Francisco  (tr.  by 

H.  W.  Longfellow)  . The  Image  of  God . 

Bible,  Moulton’s  Modern  Readers’: 

Psalm  XXIII  . The  Protection  of  Jehovah . 

Psalm  XXVII  . The  Deliverance  of  Jehovah . 

Psalm  XCIII  . Jehovah’s  Immovable  Throne  .... 


xxii  TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 


Milton,  John  . 

Smart,  Christopher . 

Spenser,  Edmund  . 

Sternhold,  Thomas . 

d.  Eighteenth  Century 

Coleridge,  Samuel  Taylor 

Dryden,  John  . 

Grant,  Sir  Robert . 

Pope,  Alexander  . 


The  Plan  of  Salvation  (From  Para¬ 
dise  Lost )  . . 

Song  to  David  . 

From  “Hymn  of  Heavenly  Beauty” 
The  Majesty  of  God  . 

Religious  Musings  . 

From  Religio  Laici  . 

The  Majesty  and  Mercy  of  God.  . 
From  “The  Essay  on  Man”  . 


e.  Nineteenth  Century 

Browning,  Eliz.  Barrett  . 

Browning,  Robert . 

Browning,  Robert . 

Browning,  Robert  . 

de  Vere,  Sir  Aubrey  .  .  . 
Emerson,  Ralph  Waldo  . 
Emerson,  Ralph  Waldo  . 

Gilman,  Charlotte  P . 

Ibsen,  Hendrik  . 

Meredith.  George  . 

Myers,  Frederick  W.  IT. 
Sharp,  William  (Fiona 

leod)  . 

Symonds,  John  Addington 

Tabb,  John  B . 

Wallace,  James  Cowden  . 

Whitman,  Walt  . 

Whittier,  John  G . 

Wilcox,  Ella  Wheeler  . . 
Wordsworth,  William  . . . 


...  .From  “Aurora  Leigh”  . 

,  . . . .  Abt  Vogler  . 

.....Caliban  upon  Setebos  . 

....  Saul  . 

. Reality  . 

.....From  “Woodnotes”  . 

. The  Bohemian  Hymn  . 

....The  Living  God  . 

....Brand  Speaks  . . .  .' . 

. From  The  Test  of  Manhood . 

....The  Inner  Light  . 

Mac- 

.  ...The  Redeemer  . 

....An  Invocation  . 

....Communion  . 

....  God  . 

. From  “The  Passage  to  India”  ... 

....  The  Over-Heart  . . . 

....  Illusion  . 

....From  “The  Excursion  . 


f.  Twentieth  Century 

Abercombie,  Lascelles . The  Seeker  . 

Bynner,  Witter  . Ecce  Homo  . 

Bynner,  Witter  . The  New  God  . 

Call,  Mark  Wilks  . Renunciation  . 

Carruth,  William  Herbert . Each  in  His  Own  Tongue 

Doolittle,  Hilda  (Mrs.  Richard 

Aldington)  . Pygmalion  . 

Gilman,  Charlotte  P . A  Common  Inference  .... 

Gilman,  Charlotte  P . Give  Way!  . 

Hardy,  Thomas  . Agnosto  Theo  . 

Hardy,  Thomas  . God’s  Funeral  . 

Lawrence,  D.  H . Dreams  Old  and  Nascent  . 

Marquis,  Don  . The  God-Maker,  Man  .... 

Monro.  Harold  . God  (From  Dawn)  . 


PAGE 

93 

95 

9S 

99 

100 

101 

104 

105 


105 

107 

II  X 
119 
126 
1 26 
128 
128 

130 

131 

132 

133 
133 

1.35 

135 

136 
138 

140 

141 


142 

143 

144 

145 

145 

146 

147 

148 

149 
149 

152 

IS4 

156 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 


Morgan,  Angela  . Reality  . 

Oppenheim,  James  . The  New  God  . 

Sandburg,  Carl  . Manufactured  Gods  . 

Sassoon,  Siegfried  . A  Mystic  as  Soldier  . 

Shepard,  Odell  . The  Hidden  Weaver  . 

Sitwell,  Osbert  .  How  Shall  We  Rise  to  Greet  the 

Dawn  ?  . 

Stephens,  James  . What  Tomas  an  Buile  Said  in  a 

Pub  . 

Tagore,  Rabindranath  . From  “Gitanjali”  (45,  46,  72,  73) 

Watson,  William . The  Hope  of  the  World  . 

Watson,  William . The  Unknown  God  . 

Widdemer,  Margaret  . The  Awakened  War  God  . 

Yeats,  William  B . An  Indian  upon  God . 

Zangwill,  Israel  . Jehovah  . 

Zangwill,  Israel  . At  the  Worst  . 


PAGE 

158 

160 

161 

161 

162 

163 

164 

165 

167 
171 
U3 
i74 
US 
1 77 


TV.  FAITH 
a.  The  Old  Faith 

Cowper,  William  . Light  Shining  Out  of  Darkness..  181 

Guyon,  Madame  . A  Little  Bird  I  Am  .  182 

Herrick,  Robert  . To  God  .  183 

Hinkson,  Katharine  Tynan  ....The  Flying  Wheel  .  183 

Watts,  Isaac  . The  Incomprehensible  .  184 

Williams,  Roger  . God  Makes  a  Path .  185 


b.  Modern  Faith 


Bronte,  Anne  . 

Burroughs,  John  . 

Case,  Elizabeth  York  .  . . 
Clough,  Arthur  Hugh  . . 
Clough,  Arthur  Hugh  .  . 
Dowden,  Mrs.  Edward  . 

Eliot,  George  . 

Emerson,  Ralph  Waldo  . 
Emerson,  Ralph  Waldo  . 
Gannett,  Wm.  Channing 

Gregh,  Fernand  . 

Holland,  Josiah  G . 

Holland,  Josiah  G . 

Howells,  William  Dean 

Hugo,  Victor  . 

Jackson,  Helen  Hunt  .  . 

Morris,  Sir  Lewis  . 

Pope,  Alexander  . 

Stevenson,  Robert  Louis 

Tabb,  John  B . 

Tennyson,  Alfred  . 


The  Doubter’s  Prayer  . 

Waiting  . 

There  Is  No  Unbelief . 

Jlope  Evermore  and  Believe  . 

With  Whom  Is  No  Variableness.  . 

Adrift  . 

The  Tide  of  Faith  . 

Brahma  . 

Each  and  All . 

The  Stream  of  Faith . 

,  Doubt  . 

.A  Song  of  Doubt  . 

A  Song  of  Faith  . 

Faith  . 

The  Poet’s  Simple  Faith . 

Doubt  . 

The  Beginnings  of  Faith  . 

Faith  . 

If  This  Were  Faith  . 

Faith  . 

.From  “In  Memoriam”  (Proem).. 


186 

187 
1S8 

189 

190 
190 

190 

191 

192 

193 

194 

195 

195 

196 

196 

197 

197 

198 

199 

200 
200 


XXIV 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 


Tennyson,  Alfred  . The  Ancient  Sage  ... 

Tennyson,  Alfred  . The  Higher  Pantheism 

Whittier,  John  G . Adjustment  . 

Whittier,  John  G . Faith  . 

Whittier,  John  G . The  Eternal  Goodness 


c.  New  Voices 

Acharya,  Sri  Ananda  . My  Faith  . 

Australian  Soldier  . Victory  . 

Carpenter,  Edward  . Have  Faith  . . 

Guiterman,  Arthur  . In  the  Hospital  . 

Kemp,  Harry  . God  the  Architect  .... 

Lea,  Fanny  Heaslip . The  Dead  Faith  . 

McLeod,  Irene  Rutherford  ....  From  The  Rebel  . 

Masefield,  John  . Sonnets  . 

Meredith,  George . From  A  Faith  on  Trial 

Meredith,  George  . Sense  and  Spirit . 

Santayana.  George  . Faith  . 


PAGB 

202 

202 

203 

204 

205 


208 
209 
209 
2X0 
21  I 
2X2 
212 
213 
215 

215 

216 


V.  GOD  IN  NATURE 

a.  Immanence  in  Nature  in  General 


Brown,  Alice  . ..Hora  Christi  . 

Brown,  Alice  . Revelation  . 

Brown,  Thomas  Edward . Disguises  . 

Browning,  Robert . Song  from  “Pippa  Passes"  . 

Carman,  Bliss  . The  Heretic . 

Dickinson,  Emily  . Some  Keep  Sunday  Going  to 

Church  . . . 

Emerson,  Ralph  Waldo . Forbearance  . 

Emerson,  Ralph  Waldo . Good-bye,  Proud  World . 

Emerson,  Ralph  Waldo . Music  . 

Emerson,  Ralph  Waldo . Waldeinsamkeit  . 

Hale,  Edward  E . Omnipresence  . 

Hinkson,  Katharine  Tynan  ....The  Epitaph  . 

Hovey,  Richard . Immanence  . 

Hovey,  Richard . Transcendence  . 

Kabir  (tr.  by  Tagore)  . Songs  of  Kabir  (1440  A.D.  c.).. 

Kerr,  Watson  . The  Ancient  Thought  . 

Lanier,  Sidney  . The  Marshes  of  Glynn  . 

Larcom,  Lucy  . A  Strip  of  Blue  . 

Moody,  William  Vaughn  . From  “The  Fire  Bringer”  . 

Moulton’s  Modern  Readers ’ 

Bible  . Hymn  of  the  World  Without 

(Psalm  CIV)  . 


Realf,  Richard . The  Word  . . 

Russell,  George  Wm.  (A.  E.)..Dust  . 

Russell,  George  Wm.  (A.  E.)..The  Great  Breath  . 
Sarett,  Lew  . God  Is  at  the  Anvil 


2:9 

220 

220 

221 

222 

223 

224 

224 

225 

226 
229 

229 

230 

231 

231 

232 

233 

236 

238 


227 

239 

240 

240 

241 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 


Sharp.  William  (Fiona  Mac- 

leod)  . 

Stephens,  James . 

Stephens,  James  . 

Tagore,  Rabindranath  . 

Vaughn,  Henry . 

Watson,  William  . 

Wordsworth,  William  . 

Wordsworth,  William  . 


Madonna  Natura  . 

The  Voice  of  God . 

The  Whisperer  . 

Autumn  . 

Fragment  . 

Ode  in  May . 

Lines  Composed  a  Few  Miles 

above  Tintern  Abbey  . 

The  World  Is  Too  Much  with  Us 


b.  The  Country 

Anonymous  . Out  in  the  Fields  with  God 

Gale,  Norman  . The  Country  Faith  . 

Percy,  William  Alexander . Farmers  . 


c.  Trees 

Baker,  Karle  Wilson  . Good  Company  .  ., . 

Gould,  Gerald  . The  Happy  Tree . 

Hinkson,  Katharine  Tynan  ....Of  an  Orchard  . 

Kilmer,  Joyce  . Trees  . L . 

Lanier,  Sidney  . A  Ballad  of  the  Trees  and  the 

Master  . 

Markham,  Edwin  . A  Prayer  . 


d.  Gardens  and  Flowers 

Brown,  Thomas  Edward . My  Garden  . 

Burton,  Richard  . God’s  Garden  . 

Carpenter,  Edward  . Among  the  Ferns . 

Chesterton,  Gilbert  K . The  Holy  of  Holies . 

Gannett,  William  Channing  ...Consider  the  Lilies  . 

Gurney,  Dorothy  F . The  Lord  God  Planted  a  Garden.. 

Meynell,  Alice . To  a  Daisy  . 

Nichols,  Robert  . The  Secret  Garden  . 

Parkwood,  Rose  . The  Garden  . 

Plunkett,  Joseph  Mary  . I  See  His  Blood  upon  the  Rose.. 

Tennyson,  Alfred . Flower  in  the  Crannied  Wall  .... 


e.  Animals 

Blake,  William  . 

Blake,  William  . 

Blake,  William  . 

Bryant,  William  Cullen 
Carpenter.  Edward  .  . .  . 
Chesterton,  Gilbert  K. 
Peabody,  Josephine  P. 
Whitman,  Walt  . 


Auguries  of  Innocence  . 

The  Lamb  . 

The  Tiger  . 

To  a  Waterfowl  . 

The  Songs  of  the  Birds  . 

The  Donkey  . 

To  a  Dog  . 

Song  of  Myself  (From  “Leaves  of 
Grass”)  . 


XXV 

PAGE 

241 

243 

243 

245 

245 

246 

247 

248 


249 

250 
250 


251 

251 

252 

253 

253 

254 


254 

255 
255 
258 

258 

259 

260 

260 

261 

262 

263 


263 

264 

265 

266 

267 

268 

268 

269 


XXVI 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 


f.  The  Heavens 

Addison,  Joseph  . Psalm  XIX  . 

Gilder,  Richard  Watson  . The  Invisible  . 

Jones,  Thomas  S.,  Jr . The  Path  of  the  Stars  . 

Moulton’s  Modern  Readers’ 

Bible  . The  Heavens  Above  and  the  Law 

Within  (Psalm  XIX)  . 

£.  Mountains 

Coleridge,  Samuel  Taylor . Hymn  before  Sunrise  in  the  Vale 

of  Chamounix  . 

Towne,  Charles  Hanson  . Silence  . 

h.  The  Ocean 

Byron,  Lord . To  the  Ocean  (From  Childe  Har¬ 
old’s  Pilgrimage )  . . 

Moulton’s  Modern  Readers’ 

Bible  . The  Ocean  (Psalm  CVII)  . 

Willard,  Emma . Rocked  in  the  Cradle  of  the  Deep 

VI.  GOD  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN 
a.  Immanent  in  the  Soul 

Adair,  Ivan  . Real  Presence  . . . 

Blake,  James  Vila  . In  Him  . 

Blake,  William  . The  Divine  Image  . 

Booth,  Eva  Gore . Harvest  . 

Deland,  Margaret . . . Life  . 

Emerson,  Ralph  Waldo . The  Informing  Spirit  . 

Emerson,  Ralph  Waldo  . From  Voluntaries  . 

Henderson,  Alice  Corbin  . Nodes . 

Heywood,  Thomas  . From  The  Cherubim  . 

Holmes,  Oliver  Wendell  . The  Living  Temple  . 

Hosmer,  Frederick  Lucian  . The  Indwelling  God  . 

Kabir  (tr.  by  Tagore)  . Songs  of  Kabir  (1440  A.D.  c.)... 

MacDonald,  George . From  Within  and  Without . 

Morgan,  Angela  . Hail  Man!  . 

Moulton’s  Modern  Readers’ 

Bible  . The  Hymn  of  the  World  Within 

(Psalm  CIII)  . 

Moulton’s  Modern  Readers’ 

Bible  . The  Searcher  of  Hearts  -Is  Thy 

Maker  (Psalm  CXXXIX)  . 

Rice,  Cale  Young  . Providence  . 

Swinburne,  Algernon  Charles  ..From  “The  Hymn  of  Man”  . 

Tagore,  Rabindranath  . From  “Gitanjali”  . 

Tennyson,  Alfred  . From  “In  Memoriam,”  CXXIV.  . 

Trench,  Herbert  . I  Seek  Thee  in  the  Heart  Alone.. 

Underhill,  Evelyn  (Mrs.  Stuart 

Moore)  . Introversion  . 


PAGE 

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272 

273 


271 


274 

276 


277 

278 

279 


283 

283 

284 

285 

285 

286 
286 

290 

29 1 

292 

294 

295 
29  7 
298 


287 


289 

300 

300 

303 

304 

304 

305 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 


XXVll 


PAGE 

Underhill,  Evelyn  (Mrs.  Stuart 

Moore)  . Supersensual  .  306 

Underhill,  Evelyn  (Mrs.  Stuart 

Moore)  . Theophany  .  307 

Vaughan,  Henry  . The  Dwelling  Place  .  307 

Very.  Jones  . ....Health  of  Body  Dependent  on  Soul  308 

Very,  Jones  . The  Light  from  Within  .  309 

Whitman,  Walt . Song  of  Myself  (From  “Leaves  of 

Grass”)  .  309 

b.  Revealed  in  the  Life  of  Jesus  Christ 
1.  Mediaeval  and  Modern 


Browning,  Robert . Karshish,  the  Arab  Physician  ... 

Crashaw,  Richard  . The  Holy  Nativity  of  Our  Lord 

God  . 

Domett,  Alfred . A  Christmas  Hymn  . 

Fletcher,  Giles  . Excellency  of  Christ  . 

Gilder,  Richard  Watson . The  Song  of  a  Heathen  . 

Goethe  . Easter  Chorus  from  Faust . 

Golding,  Louis  . Second  Seeing  . 

Havergal,  Frances  Ridley  . Reality  . 

MacDonald,  George . That  Holy  Thing  . 

Milton,  John  . On  the  Morning  of  Christ’s  Na¬ 
tivity  . 

Parker,  Theodore? . The  Way,  the  Truth,  and  the  Life 

Rossetti,  Gabriel  Charles  Dante.  Mary’s  Girlhood  . 

Watson,  William  . Domme  Quo  Vadis?  . 

Willis,  Nathaniel  P . The  Leper  . . 

2.  Recent 


Adams,  Francis  . To  the  Christians  . . 

Bates,  Katharine  Lee  . The  Kings  of  the  East  . . 

Booth,  Eva  Gore  . Crucifixion  . 

Boundy,  Rex  . A  Virile  Christ  . 

Bynner,  Witter  . The  Poet  . . 

Cleghorn,  Sarah  N . Comrade  Jesus  . . 

Davies,  William  Henry  . Christ  the  Man  . 

Frank,  Florence  Kiper  . The  Jew  to  Jesus . 

Le  Gallienne,  Richard  . The  Second  Crucifixion . 

Markham,  Edwin  . A  Guard  of  the  Sepulcher . 

Robinson,  Edwin  Arlington ....  Calvary  . 

Sandburg,  Carl  . ....To  a  Contemporary  Bunkshooter. 

Sassoon,  Siegfried  . The  Redeemer  . 

Tietjens,  Eunice  . The  Great  Man  . 

Van  Dyke,  Henry  . A  Lost  Word  of  Jesus  . 


C.  Revealed  in  the  Guidance  of  Individual  Lives 

Anon.  (tr.  by  Wm.  Taylor)... A  Good  Bishop  (Old  High  Ger¬ 
man,  10th  Century  A.D.)  . 


310 

3i7 

321 

323 

323 

323 

324 

325 
327 

327 

334 

335 
335 
3  38 


342 

342 

343 
34A 
345 

345 

346 

347 
347 

349 

350 
350 
352 
354 
354 


356 


XXV111 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 


Browning,  Robert . . 

Chaucer  . 

Crashaw,  Richard  . 

Dwight,  Timothy  . 

Gannett,  Wm.  Channing  .... 

Goldsmith,  Oliver  . 

Housman,  Laurence  . 

Keller,  Helen  . 

Lowell,  James  Russell  . 

Markham,  Edwin  . 

d.  Revealed  in  Historical  Events 

Byron,  Lord . 

Emerson,  Ralph  Waldo  . 

Heber,  Reginald  . 

Hugo.  Victor  . 

Shakespeare,  William  . 


FAGE 


Rabbi  ben  Ezra  .  357 

The  Good  Parson .  363 

Hymn  to  St.  Teresa  .  364 

The  Smooth  Divine  .  369 

The  Highway  .  370 

The  Village  Parson  .  371 

From  “All  Fellows”  .  372 

In  the  Garden  of  the  Lord .  373 

From  “The  Vision  of  Sir  Launfal”  373 
The  Man  with  the  Hoe .  375 

The  Destruction  of  Sennacherib..  377 

Boston  Hymn  .  378 

Who  Follows  in  His  Train?  ....  381 

The  Age  Is  Great  and  Strong  ....  382 

Cranmer’s  Prophecy  of  Queen 
Elizabeth  (From  Henry  VIII)  383 


e.  Revealed  in  Groups  or  Organizations  of  Individuals 
1.  In  the  Family: 

Burns,  Robert  . The  Cotter’s  Saturday  Night  ....  385 

Carpenter,  Edward  . . Love’s  Vision  .  387 


2.  In  the  City: 

Arnold,  Matthew  . Calm  Soul  of  All  Things 

Arnold,  Matthew  . East  London  . 

Carpenter,  Edward  . Over  the  Great  City  .  . 

Foulke,  Dudley  . The  City’s  Crown  . 

Russell,  George  William  (A.  E.).The  City . 

Russell,  George  William  (A.  E.)  .The  Garden  of  God  .... 

Van  Dyke,  Henry  . The  Gospel  of  Labor  .  .  . 

Zangwill,  Israel  . In  the  City  . 


3.  In  the  Church: 

Barrett.  Wilson  Agnew . A  New  England  Church 

Clough,  Arthur  Hugh  . The  Latest  Decalogue  . 

Hardy,  Thomas  . The  Impercipient . 

E.  H.  K . The  City  Church  . 

Leslie,  Shane  . Priest  or  Poet . 

Piper,  Edwin  Ford . Tbe  Church  . 

Romain,  Jules  . The  Church  . 

Thompson,  Francis  . Lillium  Regis  . 

Watson,  William  . The  Church  Today  .... 


388 

388 

389 

390 
390 
392 

392 

393 


394 

395 

396 

397 

398 
398 
40c 

405 

405 


VII.  PRAYERS 
a.  Descriptions  of  Prayer 

Crane,  Stephen  . The  Peaks  .  409 

de  Vere,  Sir  Aubrey  . The  Right  Use  of  Prayer  .  410 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 


XXIX 


Montgomery,  James  . What  Is  Prayer? . 

Morgan,  Angela  . . . God  Prays  . 

Neihardt,  John  G . Envoi  . 

Tennyson,  Alfred  . Prayer  (From  Idylls  of  the  King) 

Thomas,  Edith  M . A  Far  Cry  to  Heaven  . 

Trench,  Richard  C . Pra3rer  . 

Washbourne,  Thomas  . Prayer  . 

Wlddemer,  Margaret  .  Barter  . 

Wilcox,  Ella  Wheeler . Unanswered  Prayers  . 


PAGE 

410 

411 

414 

414 

415 

416 

416 

417 

418 


b.  General  Prayers 

Arnold,  Matthew  . . . 

Brown,  Alice  . 

Cheney,  Ednah  D.  .  . 
Ellwood,  Thomas  .... 

Lazariis,  Emma . 

Phillips,  Stephen  .  .  . 
Pope,  Alexander  .... 
Rice,  Cale  Young  .  . . 
Sill,  Edward  Rowland 
Van  Dyke,  Henry  .  . 
Verlaine,  Paul . 


Desire  . 

Pagan  Prayer  . 

The  Larger  Prayer . 

Prayer  . 

Gifts  . 

The  Poet’s  Prayer  . 

The  Universal  Prayer  . 

A  Litany  for  Latter-Day  Mystics 

The  Fool’s  Prayer  . 

Prayer  . 

A  Confession  . 


419 

421 

421 

422 
422 

424 

425 

427 

427 

429 

429 


c.  Prayers  of  Invocation 

Carman,  Bliss  . Veni  Creator  .  431 

Cleanthes  (tr.  by  Plumptre)  .  . . .  Hymn  to  Zeus .  433 

Derzhavin  (tr.  by  Sir  John  Bow¬ 
ring)  . O  Thou  Eternal  One!  .  435 

Eastman,  Max  . Invocation  .  438 

Tennyson,  Alfred . The  Prayer  (From  “In  Memo- 

riam,”  CXXXI)  .  438 


d.  Prays  for  Comfort  in  Prospect  of  Death 

Burns.  Robert  . A  Prayer  in  the  Prospect  of  Death  439 

Mary  Queen  of  Scots . Prayer  before  Execution  .  439 


e.  Prayers  for  Guidance 

Drinkwater,  John  . 

Garland,  Hamlin . 

Gilman,  Charlotte  P . 

Herbert,  George  . . 

Newman,  John  Henry  . 

Sharp,  William  (Fiona  Mac- 

leod)  . 

Sutton,  Henry  Septimus . 

f.  Prayers  of  Gratitude 

Herrick,  Robert  . 

Howells,  William  Dean . 


A  Prayer  .  440 

The  Cry  of  the  Age  .  441 

Two  Prayers  .  442 

The  Elixir  .  442 

The  Pillar  of  the  Cloud .  443 

The  Mystic’s  Prayer  .  444 

The  Inward  Light  .  444 

A  Thanksgiving  to  God  .  445 

A  Prayer  .  447 


XXX 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 


PAGE 

Kemp,  Harry . Prayer  .  447 

Stork,  Charles  Wharton  . God,  You  Have  Been  Too  Good  to 

Me  .  448 


g.  War  Prayers 

Aldington,  Richard  . Vicarious  Atonement .  448 

Chesterton,  Gilbert  K . Prayer  .  449 

Hodgson,  William  Noel  . Before  Action  .  450 

Mackaye,  Percy  . A  Prayer  of  the  Peoples  .......  451 


h.  Prayers  for  Special  Things 

Buonarotti,  Michelangelo  (tr. 

by  William  Wordsworth)  ....For  Inspiration  . 

Chippewa  Indians  (tr.  by  Tan¬ 
ner)  . A  Voyager’s  Prayer  . 

Donne,  John  . For  Forgiveness  . 

East  Indian  Toda  . ..To  a  Sacred  Cow . 

Kalevala  (Finnish)  . Prayer  for  Rain  . 

MacDonald,  George . Epitaph  . . 

Navajo  Indians  (tr.  by  Cronyn) .  Prayer  to  the  Mountain  Spirit.... 

Neihardt,  John  G . Prayer  for  Pain  . 

Osage  Indians . A  Dance  Chant  . 

Untermeyer,  Louis  . Prayer  . 

Whitman,  Walt  . Prayer  of  Columbus  . 


452 

453 

453 

454 

454 

455 

456 
45^ 

457 

458 
458 


VIII.  WORSHIP 

a.  Pre-Christian  Period 

Assyrian  (2000?  B.C.)  . Hymn  to  Marduk  (Two  Selec¬ 


tions)  . 463,  464 

Babylonian  (2000?  B.C.)  . Penitential  Psalm  (Two  Selec¬ 
tions)  . 465,  467 


East  Indian  . See  Buddhist  Sisters,  Section  II  a. 

Egyptian  (1700  B.C.)  . Hymn  to  Amen  Ra,  the  Sun  God.  468 

Greek  (fiEschylus,  525-456 

B.C.  ?)  . Hymn  to  Zeus  (Chorus  from  Aga- 

memmon)  . .  473 

Greek  (Sophocles,  490-405 

B.C.?)  . Chorus  from  CEdipus  Rex .  474 

b.  Early  Christian  and  Mediaeval  Periods 

Solomon,  Ode  VI  of . Inspiration  .  475 

Solomon,  Ode  XXXVIII  of  ...To  Truth  . *  477 

Clement  of  Alexandria  (1st 

Century)  . Earliest  Christian  Plymn  of .  478 

Anonymous  . De  Profundis  .  480 

Anonymous  . Gloria  in  Excelsis  .  480 

Anonymous  . Magnificat  . .  481 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 


XXXI 


Anonymous  . Nunc  Dimittis  . 

Anonymous  . Te  Deura  Laudamus . 

de  Benedicts,  Jacobus . Stabat  Mater  . 

St.  Patrick  (400  A.D.  c.)  . The  Deer’s  Cry  . 

Gregory  the  Great  (600  A.D.  c.) Morning  Hymn  . 

Bede,  the  Venerable  (735  A.D.).A  Hymn  . 

Tamil  Saivite  Saints  (600-800 

A.D.)  . The  Soul’s  Bitter  Cry  . . 

Charlemagne  (800  A.D.  c.)  .  ...Veni  Creator  Spiritus  . . . 

St.  Joseph  of  the  Stadium  (850 

A.D.  c.)  . The  Finished  Course  . 

Sivaite  Puritans  (10th  Century 

A.D.)  . Hymn  of  . 

Robert  of  France  (1000  A.D. 

c.)  . Strength,  Love,  Light . 

Bernard  of  Cluny  (1145  A.D.) .  Jerusalem  the  Golden  (See  Sec. 

XII) 

Bernard  of  Glairvaux  (1x50 

A.D.)  . Jesus,  Thou  Joy  of  Loving  Hearts 

St.  Francis  of  Assisi  (1225 

A.D.)  . Canticle  0f  the  Sun . 

St.  Thomas  Aquinas  (1250 

A.D.  c.)  . Hymn  . . . 

Kabir  (1440  A.D.)  (tr.  by  Ra¬ 
bindranath  Tagore)  . Songs  of  Kabir  (see  Sections  V, 

VI) 

East  Indian  (1469  A.D.)  . From  Nanak  and  the  Sikhs . 


PAGE 

481 

482 

483 
485 
487 

487 

488 

489 

491 

492 

493 


494 

494 

495 


497 


c.  Reformation  Period 

Luther,  Martin  (1521)  . Hymn  .  498 

St.  Francis  Xavier  (1550)  . Hymn  .  500 

Calvin,  John  (1560)  . . Salutation  to  Jesus  Christ .  501 

Kethe,  William  (1560)  . Scotch  Te  Deum  .  502 

“F.  B.  P.”  (1583)  . O  Mother  Dear,  Jerusalem  .  503 

Gustavus  Adolphus  (1630)  . Battle  Hymn  .  504 


d.  Seventeenth  Century 

Anon,  (from  German)  . Fairest  Lord  Jesus .  505 

Anon,  (from  French)  (tr.  by 

Percy  Allen)  . A  Mystic  Song  .  506 

de  la  Barca,  Pedro  Calderon ...  Thou  Art  of  All  Created  Things..  506 

Milton,  John  (1623)  . Let  Us  with  a  Gladsome  Mind...  507 

Maratha,  Saints  (East  Indian  ' 

1608-1649)  . The  Restless  Heart  .  509 

Milton,  John  . Adam’s  Morning  Hymn .  509 

Racine,  Jean  B.  (1690)  . Chorus  from  Athalie  .  51 1 

Guyon,  Madame  (1700)  . Adoration  .  512 


XXX11 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 


e.  Evangelical  Period  (18th  Century) 

Watts,  Isaac  (1707)  . When  I  Survey  the  Wondrous 

Cross  . . 

Pope,  Alexander  (1712)  . Rise,  Crowned  with  Light,  Impe¬ 
rial  Salem  Rise!  . 

Watts,  Isaac  (1719)  . Jesus  Shall  Reign  Where’er  the 

Sun  . 

Watts,  Isaac  (1719)  . Oh  God,  Our  Help  in  Ages  Past.. 

Wesley,  Charles  (1720)  . Divine  Love  . 

Wesley,  Charles  (1740)  . Jesus,  Lover  of  My  Soul  . 

Cennick,  John  (1743)  . Children  of  the  Heavenly  King... 

Williams,  Wm.  (1745)  . The  Christian  Pilgrim’s  Hymn  .. 

Anon.  (1751)  . . . Adeste  Fideles  . 

Doddridge,  Philip  (1755)  . Awake  My  Soul!  . 

Wesley,  Charles  (1757)  . Come,  Thou  Almighty  King . 

Toplady,  Augustus  M.  (i776)..Rock  of  Ages  . 

Perronet,  Edward  (1779)  . Coronation  (English  Te  Deum)  .  . . 

Newton,  John  (1779)  . Glorious  Things  of  Thee  Are 

Spoken  .  . 

“K.”  in  Rippon’s  Selections 

(1787)  . How  Firm  a  Foundation  . 

f.  Nineteenth  Century 

Heber,  Reginald  (1811)  . Brightest  and  Best  of  the  Sons  of 

the  Morning  . 

Grant,  Sir  Robert  (1815)  . The  Majesty  and  Mercy  of  God 

(see  Sect.  Ill,  d). 

Heber,  Reginald  (1819)  . From  Greenland’s  Icy  Mountains. 

Bowring,  Sir  John  (1825)  . In  the  Cross  of  Christ  I  Glory... 

Binney,  Thomas  (1826)  . Eternal  Light!  . 

Muhlenberg,  Wm.  A.  (1826) ..  .Fulfillment  . 

Heber,  Reginald  (1827)  . Thrice  Holy  . 

Heber,  Reginald  (1827)  . Who  Follows  in  His  Train?  (See 

Section  VI  a). 

Palmer,  Ray  (1830)  . My  Faith  Looks  Up  to  Thee  .... 

Smith,  Samuel  (1832)  . The  Morning  Light  Is  Breaking.. 

Bacon,  Leonard  (1833)  . The  Pilgrim  Fathers  . 

Stone,  Samuel  J.  (1866)  . The  Church’s  One  Foundation  ... 

Adams,  Sarah  Flower  (1841 )..  Nearer,  My  God,  to  Thee . 

Alford,  Henry  (1844)  . Harvest  Home  . 

Lyte,  Henry  F.  (1847)  . Abide  with  Me  . 

Alexander,  Cecil  F.  (1848)  ...There  Is  a  Green  Hill  Far  Away 

Faber,  Frederick  W.  (1854)...  God  Our  Father  . 

Lynch,  Thomas  T.  (1856)  . Lift  Up  Your  Heads,  Rejoice!... 

Gilmore,  Joseph  H.  (1859)  - He  Leadeth  Me  . 

Holmes,  Oliver  Wendell  (i860). A  Sun-Day  Hymn . 

Johnson,  Samuel  (i860)  . City  of  God  . 

Wordsworth,  Christopher  (1862)0  Day  of  Rest  and  Gladness _ 


PAGE 


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513 


513 

514 

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516 

517 

518 

519 

520 

520 

521 

522 

523 

524 


525 


526 

527 

527 

528 

529 


529 

530 

53 1 

532 

533 

534 

535 

536 

536 

537 

538 

539 

540 

541 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 


XXXlll 


Howe,  Wm.  Walsham  (1864) ..  Funeral  Hymn  . 

Whittier,  John  G.  (1866)  . Our  Master  . 

Baring-Gould,  Sabine  (1867) ...  Onward,  Christian  Soldiers . 

Ingemann,  Bernard  (1825)  (tr. 

by  S.  Baring-Gould,  1867) ...  Pilgrim’s  Song  . 

Baring-Gould,  Sabine  ( 1868) ...  Child’s  Evening  Hymn  . 

Brooks,  Phillips  (1868)  . O  Little  Town  of  Bethlehem  .... 

Clephane,  Elizabeth  C.  ( 1868) ..  There  Were  Ninety  and  Nine.... 

Ellerton,  John  (1871)  . Now  the  Labourer’s  Task  Is  O’er 

Havergal,  Frances  R.  ( 1873)  ....  Thou  Art  Coming  . 

Bickersteth,  E.  H.  (1875)  . Peace,  Perfect  Peace  . 

Lathbury,  Mary  A.  (1877)  ....The  Day  Is  Dying  in  the  West... 
Gladden,  Washington  (i879)...0  Master,  Let  Me  Walk  with  Thee 

Matheson,  George  (1882)  . O  Love  That  Wilt  Not  Let  Me  Go 

Modern  Chinese  (1890)  . The  New  Heart  . 

Iroquois  Indians  (tr.  by  E.  S. 

Parker)  . A  Dance  Chant  . 

Hay,  John  (1891)  . Not  in  Dumb  Resignation  . 

Longfellow,  Samuel  (1891)  ....The  Church  Universal  . 

Hosmer,  Frederick  L.  (1891)... Thy  Kingdom  Come  . 

Kipling,  Rudyard  (1897)  . Recessional  . 

g.  Twentieth  Century 

Bates,  Katharine  Lee  ( 1905)  ...  America  the  Beautiful  , . 

Hosmer,  Frederick  L.  (1903)... Thy  Kingdom  Come,  O  Lord  .... 

North,  Frank  Mason  (1903)... The  City  . 

Scudder,  Vida  (1905)  . Thy  Kingdom,  Lord,  We  Long  For 

Stork,  Charles  Wharton . The  Troubadour  of  God . 

Merrill,  William  Pierson  (i9ii)Festal  Sone  . 

IX.  COMFORT  IN  SORROW 
o.  Submission  to  the  Will  of  God 


Arkwright,  John  S . The  Supreme  Sacrifice  . 

Baker,  Karle  Wilson  . The  Ploughman.  . 

Browning,  Eliz.  Barrett  . Substitution  . 

^Eschylus  (tr.  by  Eliz.  Barrett  . 

Browning)  . The  Wail  of  Prometheus  Bound.. 

Cary,  Phoebe  . Nearer  Home  . 

Massey,  Gerald  . His  Banner  Over  Me . 

Phillips,  Stephen  . Grief  and  God  . 

Moulton’s  Modern  Readers’ 

Bible  . . . The  Refuge  (Psalm  XLVI)  . 

Moulton’s  Modern  Readers’ 

Bible  . The  Everlasting  Arms  (Psalm 

XCI)  . 

Moulton’s  Modern  Readers’ 

Bible  . The  Pilgrim’s  Song  (Psalm  CXXI) 

Proctor,  Adelaide  . The  Lost  Chord  . 


PAGE 

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543 

544 

545 

546 

547 

548 

549 

550 

551 

552 

553 

553 

554 

555 

556 

556 

557 

558 


559 

560 
56r 

561 

563 

564 


567 

568 

568 

569 

570 

571 

572 

574 


575 

576 
576 


XXXI V 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 


The  Ministry  of  Pain 

de  Vere,  Sir  Aubrey . Sorrow  . 

Goethe  . Who  Never  Ate  with  Tears  His 

Bread  . . 

Ingelow,  Jean  . Sorrows  Humanize  Our  Race  .  .  . 

Lowell,  James  Russell . ’Tis  Sorrow  Builds  the  Shining 

Ladder  Up  . 

Proctor,  Adelaide  A . Cleansing  Fires . 

Smith,  May  Riley . My  Uninvited  Guest  . 

Stedman,  Edmund  Clarence  ....From  The  Ordeal  by  Fire . 

Stevenson,  Robert  Louis . The  Celestial  Surgeon  . 

Stringer,  Arthur  . A  Wanderer’s  Litany  . 

Van  Dyke,  Henry  . If  All  the  Skies . 

Wattles,  Willard  . . Pisgah  . . 

Whittier,  John  G . The  Angel  of  Patience  . 

Bravery  Is  Its  Own  Consolation 

Bolton,  Sarah  K . The  Inevitable  . 

Brooke,  Stopford  . Courage  . 

Carlyle,  Thomas  . Cui  Bono?  . 

Driscoll,  Louise . God’s  Pity  . 

Henley,  William  Ernest . Invictus  . 

Underwood,  Wilbur  . To  the  Brave  Soul  . 


d.  Victory  on  the  Spiritual  Plane 

O  Sheel,  Shaemus . “They  Went  Forth  to  Battle,  but 

They  Always  Fell”  . 

Reese,  Lizette  Woodworth  ....Tears  . 

Story,  William  Wetmore  . Io  Victis  . . . 

Upson,  Arthur  W . Failures  . 


e.  Is  There  No  Immediate  Relief? 

1.  Heaven  Only  Can  Heal 

Gerhardt,  Paul  . 

Longfellow,  Samuel . 

MacMannus,  Seumas  . 

Moore,  Thomas . 

Santayana,  George  . 

2.  Love  Only  Can  Heal 

Clifford,  Ethel . 

3.  Service  Only  Can  Heal 

Milton,  John  . 

4.  Time  Only  Can  Heal 

Dickinson,  Emily  . 

Tilton,  Theodore . 

X.  CONDUCT  OF  LIFE 
a.  Personal 

1.  High  Aims 

Cawein,  Madison  . 

Holmes,  Oliver  Wendell  ... 


Courage  . 

The  Christian  Life  . 

In  Dark  Hour  . 

Come,  Ye  Disconsolate  . 

Sorrow  . 

The  Harp  of  Sorrow  . 

Sonnet  on  His  Blindness . 

Sorrow  . 

Even  This  Shall  Pass  Away  . . . . 


Attainment  . 

The  Chambered  Nautilus 


PAGE 

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578 
578 

529 

580 

580 

582 

583 

583 

584 

585 

585 


586 
586 

587 

588 

588 

589 


589 

590 
590 
592 


593 

594 

595 

596 

596 

597 

597 

598 
598 


603 

604 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 


xxxv 


PAGB 

Sorley,  Chas.  Hamilton . Expectans  Expectavi  .  605 

Wilcox,  Ella  Wheeler  . Attainment  .  606 


2.  Self-Control 


Arnold,  Matthew  . Self-Dependence  .  607 

Carpenter,  Edward  . The  Stupid  Old  Body  .  608 

Carpenter,  Edward . The  Wandering  Lunatic  Mind  ..  609 

Dyer,  Sir  Edward . My  Minde  to  Me  a  Kingdom  Is..  610 

Wotton,  Sir  Henry  . The  Happy  Life  .  612 


3.  Work 

Acharya,  Sri  Ananda  . Realization  . 

Blake,  Wiilliam  . To  the  Christians . 

Blake,  William  . From  Milton  . 

Burton,  Richard  . The  Song  of  the  Unsuccessful.... 

Hunt,  Leigh . Abou  ben  Adhem . 

Kipling,  Rudyard  . The  Sons  of  Martha . 


613 

614 

614 

615 

616 

617 


4.  Humility 

Bunyan,  John  . The  Shepherd  Boy  Sings  . 

Cheney,  John  Vance  . The  Happiest  Heart  . 

Foss,  Sam  Walter . The  House  by  the  Side  of  the 

Road  . 

Knox,  William  . O  Why  Should  the  Spirit  of  Mor¬ 
tal  Be  Proud?  . 


619 

619 

620 

621 


5.  Opportunity 

Carlyle,  Thomas  . 

Doudney,  Sara  . . 

Plummer,  Mary  Wright 
Sill,  Edward  Rowland 


Today  . 

The  Water  Mill 
Irrevocable 
Opportunity  .  . . 


623 

623 

625 

625 


6.  Loyalty  to  Vour  Best  Self 

Colton,  Arthur  . Harps  Hung  Up  in  Babylon .  626 

Herbert,  George  . Virtue  .  627 

Moulton’s  Modern  Readers’ 

Bible  . The  Tree  and  the  Chaff  (Psalm  I)  628 

Wightman,  Richard  . The  Pilgrim  .  629 

Wightman,  Richard  . The  Servants  .  629 


7.  Loyalty  to  Duty 

Gilman,  Charlotte  P. 
Hale,  Edward  E.  ... 
MacDonald,  George  . 

Thomas.  Edith  . 

Wordsworth,  William 

8.  Creeds 

Baker,  Karle  Wilson 
Cary,  Alice  . 


Resolve  . 

The  Nameless  Saints 

Obedience  . 

The  Reply  of  Socrates 
Ode  to  Duty  . 

Creeds  . 

My  Creed . 


630 

631 

632 

633 

634 


63s 

636 


XXXVI 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 


Gilder,  Jeanette  . My  Creed . 

Hay,  John  . Religion  and  Doctrine 

McLeod,  Norman . A  Creed  . 

Oxenham,  John  . Some  Blesseds  . 

Phelps,  Elizabeth  Stuart . A  Generous  Creed  ... 

Teluga  (East  Indian,  16th  Cen¬ 
tury)  . Ritual  Not  Religion  .. 


b.  Social — God  in  All  Great  Movements 

1.  Social  Struggle 

Lowell,  James  Russell . The  Present  Crisis 

Procto-r,  Adelaide  A . The  Present . 

2.  National  Affairs  . 

Howe,  Julia  Ward  . 

Hovey,  Richard  . 

Longfellow,  Henry  W.  . 

Moody,  William  Vaughn 

3.  International  Affairs 

Raleigh,  Sir  Walter  . The  Soul’s  Errand 

Shepard,  Odell  . In  the  Dawn  . 

Widdemer,  Margaret  . The  New  Victory  . 

Wilcox,  Ella  Wheeler . An  Inspiration  . . 


Battle  Hymn  of  the  Republic  .  . . . 

Unmanifest  Destiny  . 

The  Republic  . . . 

From  Gloucester  Moors  . 


XI.  DEATH  AND  IMMORTALITY 


a.  Personal  Immortality 

Anonymous  . 

Anonymous  . 

Arnold,  Edwin  . 

Arnold,  Matthew  . 

Babcock,  Maltbie  . 

Browning,  Robert . 

Chadwick,  John  White 

Dickinson,  Emily  . 

Dickinson,  Emily  . 

Dickinson,  Emily  . 

Dickinson,  Emily  . 

Dickinson,  Emily  . 

Dodge,  Mary  Mapes  .  . . 

Ellerton,  John  . 

Fuller,  Margaret . 

Gilder,  Richard  Watson 

Ingelow,  Jean  . 

Kemp,  Harry . 

Milton,  John  . 

Mitchell,  S.  Weir . 

Oppenheim,  James  .... 


.A  Traveller  . 

,  Resurgam  . • . 

After  Death  in  Arabia 

Rugby  Chapel  . 

Death  . 

Prospice  . 

Auld  Lang  Syne  .... 

The  Chariot . 

Death  . 

Death  . 

Resurgam  . 

Thirst  . . 

Two  Mysteries  . 

The  God  of  the  Living 

Dryad  Song  . 

Call  Me  Not  Dead  ... 
Longing  for  Home  .  . . 
He  Did  Not  Know  .  . , 

Lycidas  . 

Vespers  . 

Death  . 


PAGE 

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6  37 

639 

640 

641 

642 


642 

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646 

647 


648 

650 

655 

656 


661 

661 

663 

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670 

670 

671 

672 

673 

673 

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675 

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6  77 
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680 
685 
685 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS  xxxvii 


O’Reilly,  John  Boyle  . Forever  . 

Oxenham,  John  . Seeds  . 

Raleigh,  Sir  Walter . -...The  Conclusion  . 

Riley,  James  W . Away!  . 

Russell,  George  Wm.  (A.  E.) ..  Immortality  . 

Savage,  Minot  J . My  Birth  . 

Shelley,  Percy  B . From  “Adonais” 

Teasdale,  Sara  . Immortal  . 

Tennyson,  Alfred  . Crossing  the  Bar 

Towne,  Charles  Hanson . Of  One  Self-Slain 

White,  Joseph  Blanco  . ,.To  Night  . 

Whittier,  John  G . At  Last  . 


PAGE 

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686 

688 

688v 

689 

689 

691 

692 

693 

693 

694 
694 


b.  Impersonal  Immortality 

Anonymous  . Missing  .  695 

Blind,  Mathilde  . The  Dead  .  696 

Bourdillon,  Francis  William  ...Where  Runs  the  River? .  696 

Bronte,  Emily  . Last  Lines  .  697 

Brooke,  Rupert  . Death  .  698 

Brooke,  Rupert  . Peace  .  698 

Bryant,  William  Cullen . Thanatopsis  .  699 

Byron,  Lord  . The  Immortal  Mind  .  701 

Clough,  Arthur  Hugh  . Say  Not  the  Struggle  Naught 

Availeth  .  700 

Craik,  Dinah  Mulock . Now  and  Afterwards  .  703 

Dana,  Richard  Henry  . Immortality  .  703 

De  Long,  Juanita  . My  Hereafter  .  7 04 

Dowson,  Ernest  . Vitae  Summa  Brevis  Spem  Nos 

Vetat  Incohare  Longam  .  705 

Driscoll.  Louise  . Epitaph  .  706 

Eliot,  George  . Oh,  May  I  Join  the  Choir  Invisible  707 

Foulke,  Dudley . Life’s  Evening  .  708 

Hosmer,  Frederick  Lucian  ....My  Dead  .  709 

Jackson,  Helen  Hunt  . Habeas  Corpus  .  709 

Job  XIV,  1-12;  XIX,  25-27 
(Moulton’s  Modern  Readers ’ 

Bible )  . . . Immortality  . 71 1,  712 

Jordan,  David  Starr  . Men  Told  Me,  Lord  .  712 

Khayyam,  Omar  (tr.  by  Fitz¬ 
gerald)  . From  The  Rubaiyat  .  713 

Kipling,  Rudyard  . L’Envoi  .  71 5 

Lee-Hamilton,  Eugene  . My  Own  Hererafter  .  7l6 

Masefield,  John  . A  Creed  .  7J6 

Masefield,  John  . The  Tragedy  of  Pompey  the  Great  718 

Masefield,  John  . From  The  Everlasting  Mercy  ....  718 

Masefield,  John  . Truth  .  719 

Meredith,  George  . The  Question  Whither  .  720 


XXXV111 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 


Meynell,  Alice  . A  Song  of  Derivations  . 

Newbolt,  Sir  Henry  . The  Final  Mystery  . 

Nichols,  Robert  . Our  Dead  . 

c.  Eternal  Rest 

Browning,  Eliz.  Barrett . The  Sleep  . 

Henley,  Win.  Ernest  . Margaritae  Sorori  . 

Paine,  Albert  Bigelow  . The  Hills  of  Rest  . 

Russell,  George  William  (A.  E.)  The  Place  of  Rest  . 

Seeger,  Alan  . The  Rendezvous  . 

Sharp,  William  (Fiona  Mac- 

leod)  . Dream  Fantasy  . 

Sterling,  George  . Omnia  Exeunt  in  Mysterium  .  .  . 

Stevenson,  Robert  Louis  ....Requiem  . 

Wheelock,  John  Hall  . Exile  from  God  . 

Williams,  Sarah  . Deep  Sea  Soundings  . 

Wordsworth,  William  . From  “Ode,  Intimations  of  Im¬ 
mortality”  . 


XII.  THE  NATURE  OF  THE  FUTURE  LIFE 

o.  The  Mediaeval  Conception — The  City  Supernal 

Anonymous  . Jerusalem,  My  Happy  Home  .... 

Bernard  of  Cluny  . . Jerusalem,  the  Golden  . 

Croly,  George  . Death  and  Resurrection  . 

Dante  (tr.  by  Cary) . The  Saints  in  Glorv  . 

Dante  (tr.  by  Longfellow) ....  The  Celestial  Pilot  . 

Dante  (tr.  by  Gabriel  Charles 

Dante  Rossetti)  . From  “Vita  Nuova”  . 

Demarest,  Mary  Lee  . My  Ain  Countree  . 

Dickinson,  Emily  . Chartless  . . 

Dickinson,  Emily  . The  Child’s  Question  . 

Faber,  Frederick  W . O  Paradise!  O  Paradise!  . 

Isaiah  LXIII  (Moulton’s  Mod¬ 
ern  Readers’  Bible) . Vision  of  the  Day  of  Judgment.. 

Lindsay,  Vachel  . General  William  Booth  Enters 

Heaven  . 

Nairne,  Lady  . The  Land  o’  the  Lea!  . 

Raleigh,  Sir  Walter  . My  Pilgrimage  . 

Rossetti,  Christina  . Marvel  of  Marvels  . 

Rossetti,  Christina  . Paradise  . 

Rossetti,  Christina  . Uphill  . 

Scheffler,  Johannes  . The  Cherubic  Pilgrim  . 

St.  Teresa  . The  Life  Above,  the  Life  on  High 

Thomas  of  Celano  . Dies  Iras  . 

Vaughan,  Henry  . Peace  . 

Vaughan,  Henry  . The  World  . 

Vaughan,  Henry  . The  World  of  Light  . 

Watts,  Isaac  . Heaven  . 


PAGE 

721 

722 

723 


723 

725 

726 

726 

727 

728 

729 

729 

730 

730 

731 


735 

736 

737 

738 

740 

741 

743 

744 

745 

745 

746 

747 

749 

750 

752 

753 

754 

755 

756 

757 

759 

760 

762 

763 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 


XXXIX 


I b.  The  Modern  Conception  page 

i.  There  Is  a  Future  Life,  but  We  Do  Not  Know  What  It  Is 

Brooke,  Rupert  . Heaven  .  764 

Clough,  Arthur  Hugh  . Where  Lies  the  Land?  .  765 

Miller,  Joaquin  . The  Fortunate  Isles  . 766 

Sioux  Indians,  Song  of  the  ....  The  Land  of  the  Evening  Mirage  766 

Stowe,  Harriet  Beecher  . The  Other  World  .  767 

Whitman,  Walt  . Darest  Thou  Now,  O  Soul? .  769 

Whitman,  Walt . The  Imprisoned  Soul  .  769 


2.  We  Are  Builders  of  the  City 

Adler,  Felix . 

Chesterton,  Gilbert  K . 

Clarke,  Thomas  Curtis . 

Garrison,  Theodosia  . 

Hayne,  Paul  Hamilton . 

Housman,  Laurence  . 

Letts,  Winifred  M . 

Morris,  William  . 

Palgrave,  Francis  Turner  . . 
Symonds,  John  Addington  .. 
Wheelock,  John  Hall  . 


Hail!  the  Glorious  Golden  City.. 

Home  at  Last  . 

Bugle  Song  of  Peace  . 

Stains  . 

The  True  Heaven  . 

The  Continuing  City  . 

The  Spires  of  Oxford  . 

The  Day  Is  Coming . 

The  City  of  God  . 

The  Human  Outlook  . 

The  Far  Land  . 


77  0 
77J 
77J 
772 

77.3 

774 

775 

776 

77  8 
779 
775 


. 

. 

..... 

• 

t 

■ 

• 

'  '' 


•  >  . 


, 


THE  WORLD’S  GREAT 
RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


1.  Inspiration 

a.  HOW  TO  THE  SINGER  COMES  THE  SONG? 

b.  WHENCE  TO  THE  SINGER  COMES  THE  SONG? 


I.  Inspiration 

a.  HOW  TO  THE  SINGER  COMES  THE  SONG? 


THE  POET 
Joel  Benton 

The  poet’s  words  are  winged  with  fire, 
Forever  young  is  his  desire, — 

Touched  by  some  charm  the  gods  impart, 
Time  writes  no  wrinkles  on  his  heart. 

The  messenger  and  priest  of  truth, 

His  thought  breathes  of  immortal  youth; 
Though  summer  hours  are  far  away, 
Midsummer  haunts  him  day  by  day. 


The  harsh  fates  do  not  chill  his  soul, — 
For  him  all  streams  of  splendor  roll; 
Sweet  hints  come  to  him  from  the  sky, — 
Birds  teach  him  wisdom  as  they  fly. 

He  gathers  good  in  all  he  meets, 

The  fields  pour  out  for  him  their  sweets; 
Life  is  excess;  one  sunset’s  glow 
Gives  him  a  bliss  no  others  know. 


i 


2 


THE  WORLD'S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


Beauty  to  him  is  Paradise — 

He  never  tires  of  lustrous  eyes; 
Quaffing  his  joy,  the  world  apart, 
Love  lives  a  summer  in  his  heart. 

His  lan,ds  are  never  bought  nor  sold — 
His  wealth  is  more  to  him  than  gold; 
On  the  green  hills,  when  life  is  done, 
He  sleeps  like  fair  Endymion. 


THE  BARD 

William  Blake 

Hear  the  voice  of  the  Bard, 

Who  present,  past  and  future  sees ; 
Whose  ears  have  heard 
The  Holy  Word 

That  walked  among  the  ancient  trees. 


From  A  LOST  GOD 

Francis  W.  Bourdillon 

Ah,  happy  who  have  seen  Him,  whom  the  world 
Calls  madmen !  These  alone  are  poets — not 
The  apt  mellifluous  metrist, — not  the  deft 
Industrious  rhymer, — needs  the  fire  of  heaven, 

The  earthquake,  the  long  lonely  hour  with  God, 
Before  our  flower-edged  lyric  rivulets 
Flood  over  with  the  impetuous  dithyramb. 

What  is  it  makes  a  poet’s  utterance  strong 
Except  the  striving  to  make  wings  of  words, 

And  mount  from  apprehended  thought  to  thought 
Unapprehended?  And  what  impulse  moves 
To  such  ill-guerdoned  labor  but  the  sense 
Of  things  insensuous,  the  glint  of  rays 


INSPIRATION 


3 


Nebulous,  indistinguished,  which  the  eyes 
Must  gaze  and  gaze  at  till  they  fix  the  star, — 
Visions  of  water  in  the  vacant  sand, — 

Elysian  stands  in  the  waste  of  sea? 

Such  have  I  seen,  such  phantasms  all  my  life 
Have  followed,  knowing  somewhere  they  must  lie 
Discoverable — in  our  eyes  unreal, 

Yet  real  somewhere. 


THE  POET 

Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning 

The  poet  hath  the  child’s  sight  in  his  breast, 

And  sees  all  new.  What  oftenest  he  has  viewed, 
He  views  with  the  first  glory.  Fair  and  good 
Pall  never  on  him,  at  the  fairest,  best, 

But  stand  before  him  holy  and  undressed 
In  week-day  false  conventions,  such  as  would 
Drag  other  men  down  from  the  altitude 
Of  primal  types,  too  early  dispossessed. 

Why,  God  would  tire  of  all  his  heavens,  as  soon 
As  thou,  O  godlike,  childlike  poet,  didst, 

Of  daily  and  nightly  sights  of  sun  and  moon ! 
And  therefore  hath  he  set  thee  in  the  midst, 
Where  men  may  hear  thy  wonder’s  ceaseless  tune. 
And  praise  his  world  forever,  as  thou  bidst. 


THE  PEASANT  POET 
John  Clare 

He  loved  the  brook’s  soft  sound, 
The  swallow  swimming  by, 

He  loved  the  daisy-covered  ground, 
The  cloud-bedappled  sky. 

To  him  the  dismal  storm  appeared 
The  very  voice  of  God : 


THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


And  where  the  evening  rock  was  reared 
Stood  Moses  with  his  rod. 

And  everything  his  eyes  surveyed, 

The  insects  in  the  brake, 

Were  creatures  God  Almighty  made, 
He  loved  them  for  His  sake — 

A  silent  man  in  life’s  affairs, 

A  thinker  from  a  boy, 

A  peasant  in  his  daily  cares, 

A  poet  in  his  joy. 


THE  POET’S  CALL 

Thomas  Curtis  Clarke 

By  day  the  fields  and  meadows  cry; 

By  night  the  bright  stars  plead ; 

He  hears  the  message  from  on  high, 
And  to  the  call  gives  heed. 

The  roses  tremble  as  he  nears, 

And  cry,  “Rejoice,  rejoice!” 

The  rocks  break  forth  as  he  appears, 
“God  sends  a  Voice,  a  Voice!” 


FRAGMENT 

William  Cowper 

Pity,  Religion  has  so  seldom  found 
A  skilful  guide  into  poetic  ground ! 

The  flowers  would  spring  where’er  she  deigned  to  stray 
And  every  muse  attend  her  on  her  way. 


INSPIRATION 


5 


THOUGHT 

Christopher  Pearse  Cranch 

Thought  is  deeper  than  all  speech, 
Feeling  deeper  than  all  thought, 

Souls  to  souls  can  never  teach 
What  unto  themselves  was  taught. 

We  are  spirits  clad  in  veils; 

Man  by  man  was  never  seen; 

All  our  deep  communing  fails 
To  remove  the  shadowy  screen. 

Heart  to  heart  was  never  known; 

Mind  with  mind  did  never  meet; 

We  are  columns  left  alone 
Of  a  temple  once  complete. 

Like  the  stars  that  gem  the  sky, 

Far  apart,  though  seeming  near, 

In  our  light  we  scattered  lie ; 

All  is  thus  but  starlight  here. 

What  is  social  company 

But  a  babbling  summer  stream? 

What  our  wise  philosophy 
But  the  glancing  of  a  dream? 

Only  when  the  sun  of  love 

Melts  the  scattered  stars  of  thought, 
Only  when  we  live  above 

What  the  dim-eyed  world  hath  taught, 

Only  when  our  souls  are  fed 

By  the  fount  which  gave  them  birth, 
And  by  inspiration  led 

Which  they  never  drew  from  earth, 


6  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


We,  like  parted  drops  of  rain, 

Swelling  till  they  meet  and  run. 

Shall  be  all  absorbed  again, 

Melting,  flowing  into  one. 

INSPIRATIONS 
William  James  Dawson 

Sometimes,  I  know  not  why,  nor  how,  nor  whence 
A  change  comes  over  me,  and  then  the  task 
Of  common  life  slips  from  me.  Would  you  ask 
What  power  is  this  which  bids  the  world  go  hence? 

Who  knows?  I  only  feel  a  faint  perfume 
Steal  through  the  rooms  of  life ;  a  saddened  sense 
Of  something  lost;  a  music  as  of  brooks 
That  babble  to  the  sea;  pathetic  looks 
Of  closing  eyes  that  in  a  darkened  room 
Once  dwelt  on  mine :  I  feel  the  general  doom 
Creep  nearer,  and  with  God  I  stand  alone. 

O  mystic  sense  of  sudden  quickening ! 

Hope’s  lark-song  rings,  or  life’s  deep  undertone 
Wails  through  my  heart — and  then  I  needs  must  sing. 

THE  DREAM  OF  DAKIKI 
Firdausi  (From  the  Persian) 

Translated  by  A.  V.  Williams  Jackson 

I  a. 

My  heart  was  fired,  as  from  his  sight  it  turned 
Toward  the  world’s  Sovereign  Throne,  and  inly  yearned, 
‘May  I  lay  hand  upon  that  book  some  day 
And  tell,  in  my  own  words,  that  ancient  lay  V 

Countless  the  persons  whom  I  sought  for  aid, 

As  I  of  fleeting  time  was  sore  afraid 
Lest  I  in  turn  not  long  enough  should  live, 

But  to  another’s  hand  the  task  must  give. 


INSPIRATION 


7 


Nay,  more — lest  that  my  means  should  ne’er  suffice, — 

For  such  a  work  there  was  no  buyer’s  price; 

The  age  forsooth  was  filled  with  wars  of  greed, 

A  straitened  world  it  was  for  those  in  need. 

Some  time  in  that  condition  did  I  live, 

Yet  of  my  secret  not  a  word  did  give, 

Finding  no  person  who  my  aims  would  share, 

Nor  act  for  me  with  friendly  patron  care  .  .  . 

By  hap,  a  friend  beloved  at  Tus  I  had; 

Thou  would’st  have  said  ‘Two  souls  in  one  skin  clad!’ 
To  me  he  spake,  ‘Good  is  thy  whole  project, 

Thy  foot  toward  fortune  now  is  turned  direct; 

That  book,  which  written  is  in  Pahlavi, 

I’ll  get  for  thee ;  but  slack  thou  must  not  be ; 

Thine  is  the  gift  of  speech;  and  youth  is  thine 
To  tell  the  tale  of  champions’  deeds — in  fine, 

Do  thou  the  Kingly  Book  anew  relate 

And  seek  through  it  renown  among  the  great/ 

When  he  at  last  that  book  before  me  laid 
He  made  ablaze  with  light  my  soul  of  shade ! 

INSPIRATION 

Wilfrid  Wilson  Gibson 

On  the  outermost  far-flung  ridge  of  ice  and  snow 
That  over  pits  of  sunset  fire  hangs  sheer 
My  naked  spirit  poises,  then  hangs  clear 
From  the  cold  crystal  into  the  furnace  glow 
Of  ruby  and  amber  lucencies,  and  dives, 

In  the  brief  moment  of  ten  thousand  lives 
Through  fathomless  infinities  of  light, 

Then  cleansed  by  lustral  flame  and  frost  returns ; 

And  for  an  instant  through  my  body  burns; 

The  immortal  fires  of  cold-white  ecstasy 
As  down  the  darkening  valley  of  the  night 
I  keep  the  old  track  of  mortality. 


8  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


HOW  TO  THE  SINGER  COMES  THE  SONG? 

Richard  Watson  Gilder 

I 

How  to  the  singer  comes  the  song? 

At  times  a  joy,  alone; 

A  wordless  tone 

Caught  from  the  crystal  gleam  of  ice-bound  trees; 
Or  from  the  violet-perfumed  breeze ; 

Or  the  sharp  smell  of  the  seas 
In  sunlight  glittering  many  an  emerald  mile; 

Or  the  keen  memory  of  a  love-lit  smile. 

II 

Thus  to  the  singer  comes  the  song: 

Gazing  at  crimson  skies 
Where  burns  and  dies 
On  day’s  wide  hearth  the  calm  celestial  fire, 

The  poet  with  a  wild  desire 
Strikes  the  impassioned  lyre, 

Takes  into  tuned  sound  the  flaming  sight 
And  ushers  with  new  song  the  ancient  night. 

III 

How  to  the  singer  comes  the  song? 

Bowed  down  by  ill  and  sorrow 
On  every  morrow — 

The  umvorded  pain  breaks  forth  in  heavenly  singing 
Not  all  too  late  dear  solace  bringing 
To  broken  spirits  winging 

Through  mortal  anguish  to  the  unknown  rest — 

A  lyric  balm  for  every  wounded  breast. 

IV 

How  to  the  singer  comes  the  song? 

How  to  the  summer  fields 


INSPIRATION 


9 


Come  flowers?  How  yields 
Darkness  to  happy  dawn?  How  doth  the  night 
Bring  stars?  O,  how  do  love  and  light 
Leap  at  the  sound  and  sight 

Of  her  who  makes  this  dark  world  seem  less  wrong — 
Life  of  his  life,  and  soul  of  all  his  song ! 


POETRY 
Ella  Heath 

I  am  the  reality  of  things  that  seem : 

The  great  transmuter,  melting  loss  to  gain, 
Languor  to  love,  and  fining  joy  from  pain; 

I  am  the  waking,  who  am  called  the  dream; 

I  am  the  sun,  all  light  reflects  my  gleam; 

I  am  the  altar  fire  within  the  fane ; 

I  am  the  force  of  the  refreshing  rain ; 

I  am  the  sea  which  flows  to  every  stream; 

I  am  the  utmost  height  there  is  to  climb; 

I  am  the  truth  mirrored  in  fancy’s  glass ; 

I  am  stability,  all  else  will  pass; 

I  am  eternity,  encircling  time; 

Kill  me,  none  may;  conquer  me,  nothing  can, — 
I  am  God’s  soul,  fused  in  the  soul  of  man. 


POETS 
Joyce  Kilmer 

Vain  is  the  chiming  of  forgotten  bells 
That  the  wind  sways  above  a  ruined  shrine. 
Vainer  his  voice  in  whom  no  longer  dwells 
Hunger  that  craves  immortal  Bread  and  Wine. 

Light  songs  we  breathe  that  perish  with  our  breath 
Out  of  our  lips  that  have  not  kissed  the  rod. 
They  shall  not  live  who  have  not  tasted  death. 
They  only  sing  who  are  struck  dumb  by  God. 


THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


OF  AN  OLD  SONG 

Wm.  E.  H.  Lecky 

Little  snatch  of  an  ancient  song, 

What  has  made  thee  live  so  long? 

Flying  on  thy  wings  of  rhyme 
Lightly  down  the  depths  of  time, 

Telling  nothing  strange  or  rare, 

Scarce  a  thought  or  image  there, 

Nothing  but  the  old,  old  tale 
Of  a  hapless  lover’s  wail ; 

Offspring  of  an  idle  hour, 

Whence  has  come  thy  lasting  power? 

By  what  turn  of  rhythm  or  phrase, 

By  what  subtle  careless  grace, 

Can  thy  music  charm  our  ears, 

After  full  three  hundred  years? 
Landmarks  of  the  human  mind 
One  by  one  are  left  behind, 

And  a  subtle  change  is  wrought 
In  the  mould  and  cast  of  thought: 

Modes  of  reasoning  pass  away, 

Types  of  beauty  lose  their  sway; 

Creeds  and  Causes  that  have  made 
Many  noble  lives  must  fade, 

And  the  words  that  thrilled  of  old 
Now  seem  hueless,  dead  and  cold; 

Fancy’s  rainbow  tints  are  flying, 

Thoughts,  like  men,  are  slowly  dying: 

All  things  perish  and  the  strongest 
Often  do  not  last  the  longest; 

The  stately  ship  is  seen  no  more, 

The  fragile  skiff  attains  the  shore; 

And  while  the  great  and  wise  decay, 

And  all  their  trophies  pass  away, 

Some  sudden  thought,  some  careless  rhyme 
Still  floats  above  the  wrecks  of  Time. 


INSPIRATION 


ii 


THE  FATE  OF  THE  PROPHETS 

Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow 
From  The  Divine  Tragedy 

Alas !  how  full  of  fear 

Is  the  fate  of  the  Prophet  and  Seer ! 

For  evermore,  for  evermore, 

It  shall  be  as  it  hath  been  heretofore; 

The  age  in  which  they  live  will  not  forgive 
The  splendor  of  the  everlasting  light, 

That  makes  their  foreheads  bright, 

Nor  the  sublime 
Fore-running  of  their  time ! 


THE  POET 
Amy  Lowell 

What  instinct  forces  man  to  journey  on, 
Urged  by  a  longing  blind  but  dominant ! 
Nothing  he  sees  can  hold  him,  nothing  daunt 
His  never-failing  eagerness.  The  sun 
Setting  in  splendor  every  night  has  won 
His  vassalage ;  those  towers  flamboyant 
Of  airy  cloudland  palaces  now  haunt 
His  daylight  wanderings.  Forever  done 
With  simple  joys  and  quiet  happiness 
Lie  guards  the  vision  of  the  sunset  sky ; 
Though  faint  with  weariness  he  must  possess 
Some  fragments  of  the  sunset’s  majesty; 
He  spurns  life’s  human  friendships  to  profess 
Life’s  loneliness  of  dreaming  ecstasy. 


12  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


THE  POET 

Edwin  Markham 
* 

His  home  is  on  the  heights;  to  him 
Men  wage  a  battle  weird  and  dim, 

Life  is  a  mission  stern  as  fate, 

And  Song  a  dread  apostolate. 

The  toils  of  prophecy  are  his, 

To  hail  the  coming  centuries — 

To  ease  the  steps  and  lift  the  load 
Of  souls  that  falter  on  the  road. 

The  perilous  music  that  he  hears 
Falls  from  the  vortice  of  the  spheres. 

He  presses  on  before  the  race 
And  sings  out  of  a  silent  place. 

Like  faint  notes  of  a  forest  bird 
On  heights  afar  that  voice  is  heard; 

And  the  dim  path  he  breaks  today 
Will  sometime  be  the  trodden  way. 

But  when  the  race  comes  toiling  on 
That  voice  of  wonder  will  be  gone — 

But  heard  on  higher  peaks  afar, 

Moved  upward  with  the  morning  star. 

O  men  of  earth,  that  wandering  voice 
Still  goes  the  upward  way:  rejoice! 

SOVEREIGN  POETS  • 

Lloyd  Mifflin 

They  who  create  rob  death  of  half  its  stings; 
They,  from  the  dim  inane  and  vague  opaque 
Of  nothingness,  build  with  their  thought,  and  make 
Enduring  entities  and  beauteous  things ; 

They  are  the  Poets — they  give  airy  wings 


INSPIRATION 


13 


To  shapes  marmorean;  or  they  overtake 
The  Ideal  with  the  brush,  or,  soaring,  wake 
Far  in  the  rolling  clouds  their  glorious  strings. 
The  Poet  is  the  only  potentate; 

His  sceptre  reaches  o’er  remotest  zones; 

His  thought  remembered  and  his  golden  tones 
Shall,  in  the  ears  of  nations  uncreate, 

Roll  on  for  ages  and  reverberate 

When  kings  are  dust  beside  forgotten  thrones. 


THE  POET 

Yone  Noguchi 

Out  of  the  deep  and  the  dark, 

A  sparkling  mystery,  a  shape, 

Something  perfect, 

Comes  like  the  stir  of  the  day : 

One  whose  breath  is  an  odor, 

Whose  eyes  show  the  road  to  stars, 

The  breeze  in  his  face, 

The  glory  of  Heaven  on  his  back, 

He  steps  like  vision  hung  in  air, 

Diffusing  the  passion  of  Eternity; 

His  abode  is  the  sunlight  of  morn, 

The  music  of  eve  his  speech : 

In  his  sight 

One  shall  turn  from  the  dust  of  the  grave, 
And  move  upward  to  the  woodland. 


THE  PROPHET 

Alexander  Pushkin 

Translated  by  Babette  Deutsch 

I  dragged  my  feet  through  desert  gloom, 
Tormented  by  the  spirit’s  yearning, 

And  saw  a  six-winged  Seraph  bloom 
Upon  the  footpath’s  barren  turning. 


THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


And  as  a  dream  in  slumber  lies 
So  light  his  finger  on  my  eyes, — 

My  wizard  eyes  grew  wide  and  wary : 

An  eagle’s,  started  from  her  eyrie. 

He  touched  my  ears.  And  lo !  a  sea 
Of  storming  voices  burst  on  me, 

I  heard  the  whirling  heaven’s  tremor, 

The  angel’s  flight  and  soaring  sweep, 

The  sea-snakes  coiling  in  the  deep, 

And  sap  the  vine’s  green  tendrils  carry. 

And  to  my  lips  the  Seraph  clung — 

And  tore  from  me  my  sinful  tongue, 

My  cunning  tongue  and  idle-worded; 

The  subtle  serpent’s  sting  he  set 
Between  my  lips — his  hand  was  wet, 

His  bloody  hand  my  mouth  begirded. 

And  with  a  sword  he  cleft  my  breast 
And  took  the  heart  with  terror  turning, 

And  in  my  gaping  bosom  pressed 
A  coal  that  throbbed  there,  black  and  burning. 

Upon  the  wastes,  a  lifeless  clod, 

I  lay,  I  heard  the  voice  of  God; 

“Arise,  oh  prophet,  watch  and  hearken, 

And  with  my  Will  thy  soul  engird 
Through  lands  that  din  and  seas  that  darken, 
Burn  thou  men’s  hearts  with  this,  my  Word.’; 


INSPIRATION 
John  B.  Tabb 

No  hint  upon  the  hill  top  shows 
The  flush  of  climbing  feet; 

But  where  the  heaven  above  it  glows 
Triumphal  glances  meet, 


INSPIRATION 


15 


Anon  to  vanish  in  the  plain, 

And  leave  the  hill  its  heaven  again. 

No  sign  celestial  hath  the  soul 
Its  coming  dreams  to  tell, 
Unheralded  the  tidal  roll 
Returns — a  rhythmic  swell, 

Anon  with  silence,  as  with  sand, 

To  strew  the  surf-forsaken  strand. 


SONG  MAKING 
Sara  Teasdale 

My  heart  cried  like  a  beaten  child 
Ceaselessly  the  whole  night  long; 

I  had  to  take  my  own  cries 
And  thread  them  into  a  song. 

One  was  a  cry  at  black  midnight 
And  one  when  the  first  cock  crew— 

My  heart  was  like  a  beaten  child, 
But  no  one  ever  knew. 

Life,  you  have  put  me  in  your  debt 
And  I  must  serve  you  long — 

But  oh,  the  debt  is  terrible 
That  must  be  paid  in  song. 


THE  SOVEREIGN  POET 
William  Watson 

He  sits  above  the  clang  and  dust  of  Time, 

With  the  world’s  secret  trembling  in  his  lip 
He  asks  not  converse  nor  companionship 
In  the  cold  starlight  where  thou  canst  not  climb. 


i6  THE  WORLD'S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


The  undelivered  tidings  in  his  breast 
Suffer  him  not  to  rest. 

He  sees  afar  the  immemorable  throng, 

And  binds  the  scattered  ages  with  a  song. 

The  glorious  riddle  of  his  rhythmic  breath, 

His  might,  his  spell,  we  know  not  what  they  be : 
We  only  feel,  whatever  he  uttereth, 

This  savours  not  of  death, 

This  hath  a  relish  of  eternity. 


b.  WHENCE  TO  THE  SINGER  COMES  THE  SONG? 

WHO  BIDS  US  SING? 

Rhys  Carpenter 

Who  bids  us  sing?  What  need  has  the  world  for  song, 
What  need  of  the  spring  when  autumn  is  harsh  and  strong 
The  winter  comes,  the  winter  drear, 

The  year  is  dead,  the  marvellous  fruitful  year; 

Who  bids  us  sing?  What  need  has  the  world  for  song? 

What  need?  Under  the  earth  the  blossoms  hide 
Through  all  the  cold  of  the  winter  tide ; 

Who  shall  waken  them,  who  shall  call 

When  the  first  sweet  days  of  the  springtime  fall? 

Who  else?  Under  the  earth  the  blossoms  hide. 


THE  MASTER  SINGERS 
Rhys  Carpenter 

They  move  on  tracks  of  never-ending  light; 

They  pierce  the  darkness  with  the  burning  thorn 
Of  star-point  and  of  sun;  with  shadows  torn 
From  wind  and  rain,  with  storm  clouds  in  their  flight, 


INSPIRATION 


1 7 


* 


They  glut  the  whirlpools  of  abysmal  night; 

They  gather  up  the  flaming  shreds  of  morn; 
With  streams  and  forests  of  a  world  unborn 
They  set  the  hills  of  Eden  in  her  sight. 

True  poet-soul,  is  ought  beyond  your  power? 

The  very  sea  in  all  her  caves  is  still 
When  you,  prophetic,  from  life’s  utmost  hill, 
With  song’s  unearthly  vision  in  your  eyes, 
Stretch  forth  your  hands, — a  watcher  on  his  tower, 
God  in  his  heaven  bidding  light  arise. 


THE  PROBLEM 

Ralph  Waldo  Emerson 

I  like  a  church ;  I  like  a  cowl ; 

I  love  a  prophet  of  the  soul ; 

And  on  my  heart  monastic  aisles 

Fall  like  sweet  strains  or  pensive  smiles: 

Yet  not  for  all  his  faith  can  see, 

Would  I  that  cowled  churchman  be. 
Why  should  the  vest  on  him  allure, 
Which  I  could  not  on  me  endure? 

Not  from  a  vain  or  shallow  thought 
His  awful  Jove  young  Phidias  brought; 
Never  from  the- lips  of  cunning  fell 
The  thrilling  Delphic  oracle ; 

Out  of  the  heart  of  Nature  rolled 
The  burdens  of  the  Bible  old; 

The  litanies  of  nations  came, 

Like  the  volcano’s  tongue  of  flame, 

Up  from  the  burning  core  below, — 

The  canticles  of  love  and  woe : 

The  hand  that  rounded  Peter’s  dome, 

And  groined  the  aisles  of  Christian  Rome, 
Wrought  in  a  sad  sincerity; 

Himself  from  God  he  could  not  free; 


i8  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


He  builded  better  than  he  knew; — 
The  conscious  stone  to  beauty  grew. 


Know’st  thou  what  wove  yon  woodbird’s  nest 
Of  leaves,  and  feathers  from  her  breast? 

Or  how  the  fish  outbuilt  her  shell, 

Painting  with  morn  each  annual  cell  ? 

Or  how  the  sacred  pine-tree  adds 
To  her  old  leaves  new  myriads? 

Such  and  so  grew  these  holy  piles, 

Whilst  love  and  terror  laid  the  tiles. 

Earth  proudly  wears  the  Parthenon, 

As  the  best  gem  upon  her  zone, 

And  Morning  opes  with  haste  her  lids, 

To  gaze  upon  the  Pyramids; 

O’er  England’s  abbeys  bends  the  sky, 

As  on  its  friends,  with  kindred  eye ; 

For,  out  of  Thought’s  interior  sphere, 

These  wonders  rose  to  upper  air ; 

And  Nature  gladly  gave  them  place, 

Adopted  them  into  her  race, 

And  granted  them  an  equal  date 
With  Andes  and  with  Ararat. 


These  temples  grew  as  grows  the  grass ; 
Art  might  obey  but  not  surpass. 

The  passive  master  lent  his  hand, 

To  the  vast  soul  that  o'er  him  planned; 
And  the  same  power  that  reared  the  shrine 
Bestrode  the  tribes  that  knelt  within. 

Ever  the  fiery  Pentecost 
Girds  with  one  flame  the  countless  host, 
Trances  the  heart  through  chanting  choirs, 
And  through  the  priest  the  mind  inspires. 
The  word  unto  the  prophet  spoken 
Was  writ  on  tables  yet  unbroken; 

The  word  by  seer  or  sibyls  told,  • 

In  groves  of  oak,  or  fanes  of  gold, 

Still  floats  upon  the  morning  wind, 


INSPIRATION 


i9 


Still  whispers  to  the  willing  mind. 

One  accent  of  the  Holy  Ghost 
The  heedless  world  hath  never  lost. 

I  know  what  say  the  fathers  wise, — 

The  Book  itself  before  me  lies, — 

Old  Chrysostom,  best  Augustine, 

And  he  who  blent  both  in  his  line, 

The  younger  Golden  Lips  or  mines, 

Taylor,  the  Shakespeare  of  divines. 

His  words  are  music  in  my  ear, 

I  see  his  cowled  portrait  dear; 

And  yet,  for  all  his  faith  could  see, 

I  would  not  the  good  bishop  be. 

MILTON’S  PRAYER  FOR  PATIENCE 
Elizabeth  Lloyd  Howell 
I  am  old  and  blind ! 

Men  point  at  me  as  smitten  by  God’s  frown: 
Afflicted  and  deserted  of  my  kind, 

Yet  am  I  not  cast  down. 

I  am  weak,  yet  strong ; 

I  murmur  not  that  I  no  longer  see ; 

Poor,  old,  and  helpless,  I  the  more  belong, 

Father  supreme,  to  thee! 

All-merciful  One ! 

When  men  are  furthest,  then  art  Thou  most  near  ; 
When  friends  pass  by,  my  weaknesses  to  shun, 

Thy  chariot  I  hear. 

Thy  glorious  face 

Is  leaning  toward  me ;  and  its  holy  light 
Shines  in  upon  my  lonely  dwelling  place, — 

And  there  is  no  more  night. 

On  my  bended  knee 
I  recognize  thy  purpose  clearly  shown : 

My  vision  thou  hast  dimmed,  that  I  may  see 
Thyself,  thyself  alone. 


20  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


I  have  naught  to  fear; 

This  darkness  is  the  shadow  of  thy  wing; 

Beneath  it  I  am  almost  sacred;  here 
Can  come  no  evil  thing. 

Oh,  I  seem  to  stand 

Trembling,  where  foot  of  mortal  ne’er  hath  been, 
Wrapt  in  that  radiance  from  the  sinless  land, 
Which  eye  hath  never  seen ! 

Visions  come  and  go: 

Shapes  of  resplendent  beauty  around  me  throng; 
From  angel  lips  I  seem  to  hear  the  flow 
Of  soft  and  holy  song. 

It  is  nothing  now, 

When  heaven  is  opening  on  my  sightless  eyes, 
When  airs  from  Paradise  refresh  my  brow, 

That  earth  in  darkness  lies. 

In  a  purer  clime 

My  being  fills  with  rapture, — waves  of  thought 
Roll  in  upon  my  spirit, — strains  sublime 
Break  over  me  unsought. 

Give  me  now  my  lyre ! 

I  feel  the  stirrings  of  a  gift  divine: 

Within  my  bosom  glows  unearthly  fire. 

Lit  by  no  skill  of  mine. 


INSPIRATION 

Samuel  Johnson 

Life  of  Ages,  richly  poured, 

Love  of  God  unspent  and  free, 
Flowing  in  the  Prophet’s  word 
And  the  People’s  liberty. 


INSPIRATION 


21 


Never  was  to  chosen  race 
That  unstinted  tide  confined; 

Thine  is  every  time  and  place, 
Fountain  sweet  of  heart  and  mind! 

Secret  of  the  morning  stars, 

Motion  of  the  oldest  hours, 

Pledge  through  elemental  wars 
Of  the  coming  spirits  powers ! 

Rolling  planet,  flaming  sun, 

Stand  in  nobler  man  complete ; 

Prescient  laws  thine  errands  run, 
Frame  the  shrine  for  Godhead  meet. 

Homeward  led,  the  wandering  eye 
Upward  yearned  in  joy  or  awe, 

Found  the  love  that  waited  nigh, 
Guidance  of  thy  guardian  Law. 

In  the  touch  of  earth  it  thrilled; 

Down  from  mystic  skies  it  burned; 

Right  obeyed  and  passion  stilled 
It  eternal  gladness  earned. 

Breathing  in  the  thinker’s  creed, 
Pulsing  in  the  hero’s  blood, 

Nerving  simplest  thought  and  deed, 
Freshening  time  with  truth  and  good. 

Consecrating  art  and  song, 

Holy  book  and  pilgrim  track, 

Hurling  floods  of  tyrant  wrong 
From  the  sacred  limits  back. 

Life  of  Ages,  richly  poured, 

Love  of  God,  unspent  and  free, 

Flow  still  in  the  Prophet’s  word, 

And  the  People’s  Liberty ! 


22  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


FRAGMENT 

Amy  Lowell 

What  is  poetry?  Is  it  a  mosaic 

Of  colored  stones  which  curiously  are  wrought 
Into  a  pattern  ?  Rather  glass  that’s  taught 
By  patient  labor  any  hue  to  take 
And  glowing  with  a  sumptuous  splendor,  make 
Beauty  a  thing  of  awe ;  where  sunbeams  caught, 
Transmuted  fall  in  sheafs  of  rainbows  fraught 
With  storied  meaning  for  religion’s  sake. 


GOD  IS  NOT  DUMB 

* 

James  Russell  Lowell 
From  Bibliolaters 

God  is  not  dumb,  that  He  should  speak  no  more; 

If  thou  hast  wanderings  in  the  wilderness 
And  findest  not  Sinai,  ’tis  thy  soul  is  poor; 

There  towers  the  Mountain  of  the  Voice  no  less, 
Which  whoso  seeks  shall  find;  but  he  who  bends, 
Intent  on  manna  still  and  mortal  ends, 

Sees  it  not,  neither  hears  its  thundered  lore. 

Slowly  the  Bible  of  the  race  is  writ, 

And  not  on  paper  leaves  nor  leaves  of  stone; 
Each  age,  each  kindred,  adds  a  verse  to  it, 

Texts  of  despair  and  hope,  of  joy  or  moan. 

While  swings  the  sea,  while  mists  the  mountains  shroud, 
While  thunders’  surges  burst  on  cliff  of  cloud, 

Still  at  the  prophets’  feet  the  nations  sit. 


INSPIRATION 


23 


THE  POET 
Angela  Morgan 

Why  hast  thou  breathed,  O  God,  upon  my  thoughts 
And  tuned  my  pulse  to  thy  high  melodies, 

Lighting  my  soul  with  love,  my  heart  with  flame, 
Thrilling  my  ear  with  songs  I  cannot  keep — 

Only  to  set  me  in  the  market  place 
Amid  the  clamor  of  the  bartering  throng, 

Whose  ears  are  deaf  to  my  impassioned  plea, 
Whose  hearts  are  heedless  of  the  word  I  bring? 

And  yet — dear  God,  forgive !  I  will  sing  on. 

I  will  sing  until  that  shining  day 

When  one,  perchance,  one  only  may  it  be— 

Shall  turn  aside  from  out  the  sordid  way, 

Listening  with  eager  ears  that  understand 
Until  that  day — thy  day — help  me  to  bear 
The  hurt  of  cold  indifference  and  the  pain 
Of  seeing  all  the  multitude  rush  by, 

Drowning  thy  music  with  their  cry  for  gold ! 


HE  WHOM  A  DREAM  HATH  POSSESSED 
Shaemus  O  Sheel 

He  whom  a  dream  hath  possessed  knoweth  no  more  of  doubting, 

For  mist  and  the  blowing  of  winds  and  the  mouthing  of  words 
he  scorns; 

Not  the  sinuous  speech  of  schools  he  hears,  but  a  knightly 
shouting, 

And  never  comes  darkness  down,  yet  he  greeteth  a  million 
morns. 

He  whom  a  dream  hath  possessed  knoweth  no  more  of  roaming ; 

All  roads  and  the  flowing  of  waves  and  the  speediest  flight 
he  knows, 


24  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

But  wherever  his  feet  are  set,  his  soul  is  forever  homing, 

And  going,  he  comes,  and  coming  he  heareth  a  call  and  goes. 

He  whom  a  dream  hath  possessed  knoweth  no  more  of  sorrow, 

At  death  and  the  dropping  of  leaves  and  the  fading  of  suns 
he  smiles, 

For  a  dream  remembers  no  past,  and  scorns  the  desire  of  a 
morrow, 

And  a  dream  in  a  sea  of  doom  sets  surely  the  ultimate  isles. 

He  whom  a  dream  hath  possessed  treads  the  impalpable 
marches, 

From  the  dust  of  the  day’s  long  road  he  leaps  to  a  laughing  star, 

And  the  ruin  of  worlds  that  fall  he  views  from  eternal  arches, 

And  rides  God’s  battlefield  in  a  flashing  and  golden  car. 


THE  FOUNTS  OF  SONG 

William  Sharp  ( Fiona  Macleod ) 

" What  is  the  song  I  am  singing?” 

Said  the  pine  tree  to  the  wave : 

“Do  you  not  know  the  song 

You  have  sung  so  long 

Down  in  the  dim  green  alleys  of  the  sea, 

And  where  the  great  blind  tides  go  swinging 
Mysteriously, 

And  where  the  countless  herds  of  the  billows  are  hurl’d 
On  all  the  wild  and  lonely  beaches  of  the  world?” 

“Ah,  pine  tree,”  sighed  the  wave, 

“I  have  no  song  but  what  I  catch  from  thee : 

Far  off  I  hear  thy  strain 

Of  infinite  sweet  pain 

That  floats  along  the  lovely  phantom  land. 

I  sigh,  and  murmur  it  o’er  and  o’er  and  o’er, 

When  ’neath  the  slow  compelling  hand 

That  guides  me  back  and  far  from  the  loved  shore, 


INSPIRATION 


25 


I  wander  long 

Where  never  falls  the  breath  of  any  song, 

But  only  the  loud,  empty,  crashing  roar 
Of  seas  swung  this  way  and  that  for  evermore.” 

“What  is  the  song  I  am  singing ?” 

Said  the  poet  to  the  pine : 

“Do  you  not  know  the  song 
You  have  sung  so  long 

Here  in  the  dim  green  alleys  of  the  woods, 

Where  the  wild  winds  go  wandering  in  all  moods, 
And  whisper  often  o’er  and  o’er 
Or  in  tempestuous  clamours  roar 
Their  dark  eternal  secret  evermore?” 

“Oh,  Poet,”  said  the  pine, 

“Thine 
Is  that  song ! 

Not  mine ! 

I  have  known  it,  loved  it,  long! 

Nothing  I  know  of  what  the  wild  winds  cry 
Through  dusk  and  storm  and  night, 

Or  prophesy 

When  tempests  whirl  us  with  their  awful  might. 
Only,  I  know  that  when 
The  poet’s  voice  is  heard 
Among  the  woods 

The  infinite  pain  from  out  the  hearts  of  men 
Is  sweeter  than  the  voice  of  wave  or  branch  or  bird 
In  these  dumb  solitudes.” 


From  INSPIRATION 

Henry  David  Thoreau 

If  with  light  head  erect  I  sing, 

Though  all  the  Muses  lend  their  force, 
From  my  poor  love  of  anything, 

The  verse  is  weak  and  shallow  as  its  source. 


26  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


But  if  with  bended  neck  I  grope, 

Listening  behind  me  for  my  wit, 

With  faith  superior  to  hope, 

More  anxious  to  keep  back  than  forward  it, — 

Making  my  soul  accomplice  there 
Unto  the  flame  my  heart  hath  lit, 

Then  will  the  verse  forever  wear, — 

Time  cannot  bend  the  line  that  God  hath  writ. 

I  hearing  get,  who  had  but  ears, 

And  sight,  who  had  but  eyes  before ; 

I  moments  live,  who  lived  but  years, 

And  truth  discern,  who  knew  but  learning’s  lore. 


GENIUS 

Edward  Lucas  White 

He  cried  aloud  to  God:  “The  men  below 
Are  happy,  for  I  see  them  come  and  go, 
Parents  and  mates  and  friends,  paired, 
clothed  with  love; 

They  heed  not,  see  not,  need  me  not  above, — * 
I  am  alone  here.  Grant  me  love  and  peace, 
Or  if  not  them,  grant  me  at  least  release.” 

God  answered  him:  “I  set  you  here  on  high 
Upon  my  beacon  tower,  you  know  not  why, 
Your  soul-torch  by  the  cruel  gale  is  blown, 
As  desperate  as  our  aching  heart  is  lone. 

You  may  not  guess  but  that  it  shines  in  vain, 
Yet,  till  it  is  burned  out,  you  must  remain.” 


II.  The  Search  after  God 

a.  THE  SUCCESSFUL  SEARCHERS 

b.  THE  UNSUCCESSFUL  SEARCHERS 
C.  THE  SEARCH  IS  ITS  OWN  REWARD 


( 


‘ 


II.  The  Search  after  God 


a.  THE  SUCCESSFUL  SEARCHERS 


From  PAULINE 
Robert  Browning 

O  God,  where  do  they  tend — these  struggling  aims  ? 
What  would  I  have  ?  What  is  this  ‘sleep’  which  seems 
To  bound  all?  Can  there  be  a  ‘waking’  point 
Of  crowning  life?  The  soul  would  never  rule; 

It  would  be  first  in  all  things,  it  would  have 
Its  utmost  pleasure  filled, — but,  that  complete, 
Commanding  for  commanding  sickens  it. 

The  last  point  I  can  trace  is,  rest  beneath 
Some  better  essence  than  itself — in  weakness; 

This  is  ‘myself’ — not  what  I  think  should  be, 

And  what  is  that  I  hunger  for  but  God? 

My  God,  my  God,  let  me  for  once  look  on  thee 
As  though  naught  else  existed,  we  alone ! 

And  as  creation  crumbles,  my  soul’s  spark 
Expands  till  I  can  say,  ‘Even  from  myself 
I  need  thee,  and  I  feel  thee,  and  I  love  thee ; 

I  do  not  plead  my  rapture  in  thy  works 

For  love  of  thee,  nor  that  I  feel  as  one 

Who  cannot  die :  but  there  is  that  in  me 

Which  turns  to  thee,  which  loves,  or  which  should  love.’ 

Why  have  I  girt  myself  with  this  hell-dress? 

Why  have  I  laboured  to  put  out  my  life? 

Is  it  not  in  my  nature  to  adore, 

And  e’en  for  all  my  reason  do  I  not 

Feel  him,  and  thank  him,  and  pray  to  him — now f 

29 


30  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

Can  I  forgo  the  trust  that  he  loves  me  ? 

Do  I  not  feel  a  love  which  only  one  .  .  . 

O  thou  pale  form,  so  dimly  seen,  deep-eyed ! 

I  have  denied  thee  calmly — do  I  not 
Pant  when  I  read  of  thy  consummate  power, 

And  burn  to  see  thy  calm  pure  truths  out-flash 
The  brightest  gleams  of  earth’s  philosophy  ? 

Do  I  not  shake  to  hear  aught  question  thee? 

If  I  am  erring  save  me,  madden  me, 

Take  from  me  powers  and  pleasures, — let  me  die 
Ages,  so  I  see  thee  !  I  am  knit  round 
As  with  a  charm,  by  sin  and  lust  and  pride, 

Yet  though  my  wandering  dreams  have  seen  all  shapes 
Of  strange  delight,  oft  have  I  stood  by  thee — 

Have  I  been  keeping  lonely  watch  with  thee 
In  the  damp  night  by  weeping  Olivet, 

Or  leaning  on  thy  bosom,  proudly  less, 

Or  dying  with  thee  on  the  lonely  cross, 

Or  witnessing  thine  outburst  from  the  tomb ! 


THE  AWAKENING  OF  MAN 
Robert  Browning 
From  Paracelsus,  Pt.  V 
Progress  is 

The  law  of  life,  man  is  not  Man  as  yet. 

Nor  shall  I  deem  his  object  served,  his  end 
Attained,  his  genuine  strength  put  fairly  forth, 
While  only  here  and  there  a  star  dispels 
The  darkness,  here  and  there  a  towering  mind 
O’erlooks  its  prostrate  fellows:  when  the  host 
Is  out  at  once  to  the  despair  of  night, 

When  all  mankind  alike  is  perfected, 

Equal  in  full-blown  powers — then,  not  till  then, 
I  say,  begins  man’s  general  infancy. 

For  wherefore  make  account  of  feverish  starts 
Of  restless  members  of  a  dormant  whole, 


THE  SEARCH  AFTER  GOD 


31 


9 

Impatient  nerves  which  quiver  while  the  body 
Slumbers  as  in  a  grave  ?  Oh,  long  ago 
The  brow  was  twitched,  the  tremulous  lids  astir, 

The  peaceful  mouth  disturbed;  half  uttered  speech 
Ruffled  the  lip,  and  then  the  teeth  were  set, 

The  breath  drawn  sharp,  the  strong  right  hand  clenched 
stronger, 

As  it  would  pluck  a  lion  by  the  jaw; 

The  glorious  creature  laughed  out,  even  in  sleep ! 

But  when  full  roused,  each  giant-limb  awake, 

Each  sinew  strung,  the  great  heart  pulsing  fast, 

He  shall  start  up  and  stand  on  his  own  earth, 

Then  shall  his  long  triumphant  march  begin, 

Thence  shall  his  being  date — thus  wholly  roused. 
What  he  achieves  shall  be  set  down  to  him. 

When  all  the  race  is  perfected  alike 
As  man,  that  is;  all  tended  to  mankind, 

And,  man  produced,  all  has  its  end  thus  far; 

But  in  completed  man  begins  anew 
A  tendency  to  God.  Prognostics  told 
Man’s  near  approach ;  so  in  man’s  self  arise 
August  anticipations,  symbols,  types 
Of  a  dim  splendor  ever  on  before 
In  that  eternal  circle  life  pursues. 

For  men  begin  to  pass  their  nature’s  bound, 

And  find  new  hopes  and  cares  which  fast  supplant 
Their  proper  joys  and  griefs;  they  grow  too  great 
For  narrow  creeds  of  right  and  wrong,  which  fade 
Before  the  unmeasured  thirst  for  good;  while  peace 
Rises  within  them  ever  more  and  more. 

Such  men  are  even  now  upon  the  earth. 

Serene  amid  the  half-formed  creatures  round 
Who  should  be  saved  by  them  and  joined  with  them. 


A  PSALM  OF  THE  EARLY  BUDDHIST  SISTERS 

Now  here,  now  there,  lightheaded,  crazed  with  grief, 
Mourning  my  child,  I  wandered  up  and  down. 

Naked,  unheeding,  streaming  hair  unkempt, 


32  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

« 

Lodging  in  scourings  of  the  streets,  and  where 
The  dead  lay  still,  and  by  the  chariot-roads — 

So  three  years  long  I  fared,  starving,  athirst. 

And  then  at  last  I  saw  Him,  as  He  went 
Within  that  blessed  city  Mithila : 

Great  Tamer  of  untamed  hearts,  yea,  Him, 

The  Very  Buddha,  Banisher  of  fear. 

Came  back  my  heart  to  me,  my  errant  mind; 
Forthwith  to  Him  I  went  low  worshipping, 

And  there,  e’en  at  His  feet  I  heard  the  Norm. 

For  of  His  great  compassion  on  us  all, 

’Twas  He  who  taught  me,  even  Gotama. 

I  heeded  all  He  said  and  left  the  world 
And  all  its  cares  behind,  and  gave  myself 
To  follow  where  He  taught,  and  realize 
Life  in  the  Path  to  great  good  fortune  bound. 

Now  all  my  sorrows  are  hewn  down,  cast  out, 
Uprooted,  brought  to  utter  end, 

In  that  I  now  can  grasp  and  understand 
The  base  on  which  my  miseries  were  built. 


VESTIGIA 
Bliss  Carman 

I  took  a  day  to  search  for  God, 

And  found  Him  not.  But  as  I  trod 
By  rocky  ledge,  through  woods  untamed, 
Just  where  one  scarlet  lily  flamed, 

I  saw  His  footprint  in  the  sod. 

Then  suddenly,  all  unaware, 

Far  off  in  the  deep  shadows,  where 
A  solitary  hermit  thrush 
Sang  through  the  holy  twilight  hush — 

I  heard  His  voice  upon  the  air. 


THE  SEARCH  AFTER  GOD 


33 


And  even  as  I  marveled  how 

God  gives  us  Heaven  here  and  now, 

In  a  stir  of  wind  that  hardly  shook 
The  poplar  leaves  beside  the  brook — 

His  hand  was  light  upon  my  brow. 

At  last  with  evening  as  I  turned 
Homeward,  and  thought  what  I  had  learned 
And  all  that  there  was  still  to  probe — 

I  caught  the  glory  of  His  robe 
Where  the  last  fires  of  sunset  burned. 

Back  to  the  world  with  quickening  start 
I  looked  and  longed  for  any  part 
In  making  saving  Beauty  be  .  .  . 

And  from  that  kindling  ecstasy 
I  knew  God  dwelt  within  my  heart. 


THE  SEARCH 

Thomas  Curtis  Clarke 

I  sought  his  love  in  sun  and  stars, 
And  where  the  wild  seas  roll, 

And  found  it  not.  As  mute  I  stood, 
Fear  overwhelmed  my  soul ; 

But  when  I  gave  to  one  in  need, 

I  found  the  Lord  of  Love  indeed. 

I  sought  his  love  in  lore  of  books. 

In  charts  of  science’  skill ; 

They  left  me  orphaned  as  before — 

His  love  eluded  still ; 

Then  in  despair  I  breathed  a  prayer; 
The  Lord  of  Love  was  standing  there ! 


THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


FEET 

Mary  Carolyn  Davies 

Where  the  sun  shines  in  the  street 
There  are  very  many  feet 
Seeking  God,  all  unaware 
That  their  hastening  is  a  prayer. 

Perhaps  these  feet  would  deem  it  odd 
(Who  think  they  are  on  business  bent) 
If  some  one  went, 

And  told  them,  “You  are  seeking  God.” 


SEEKING  GOD 
Edward  Dowden 

I  said,  “I  will  find  God,”  and  forth  I  went 
To  seek  him  in  the  clearness  of  the  sky, 

But  he  over  me,  stood  unendurably 

Only  a  pitiless  sapphire  firmament 

Ringing  the  world, — blank  splendor;  yet  intent 

Still  to  find  God,  “I  will  go  seek,”  said  I, 

“His  way  upon  the  waters,”  and  drew  nigh 
An  ocean  marge  weed-strewn  and  foam-besprent; 
And  the  waves  dashed  on  idle  sand  and  stone, 

And  very  vacant  was  the  long,  blue  sea ; 

But  in  the  evening  as  I  sat  alone, 

My  window  open  to  the  vanishing  day, 

Dear  God !  I  could  not  choose  but  kneel  and  pray, 
And  it  sufficed  that  I  was  found  of  Thee. 

CHILD  OF  LONELINESS 
Norman  Gale 

•  ••••••*••• 

The  pith  of  faith  is  gone.  And  as  there  lie 
Along  the  desert  shanks  of  lions  slain, 

So  in  this  world  whose  needs  are  grown  so  high, 
Half  hid,  half  seen,  Faith  moulders  in  the  plain! 


THE  SEARCH  AFTER  GOD 


35 


Tenderly  take  the  priceless  wondrous  bones, 

And  wend  away  from  all  that  plucks  thy  dress, 

And  with  a  few  chance  boughs  or  scattered  stones 
Build  up  thine  altar,  Child  of  loneliness. 

The  Master  is  not  only  in  the  court 
Where  doves  are  sold  and  money-changers  cry : 

Nor  will  He  leave  the  country-side  untaught 
If  ears  be  open  as  He  passes  by: 

In  ‘secret  paths  that  thread  the  forest  land 
He  waits  to  heal  thee  and  divinely  bless; 

While  from  the  hill  with  voice  and  waving  hand 
The  shepherd  calls  thee,  Child  of  loneliness. 


But  be  thou  faithful  to  thine  altar  set 
Within  the  temple  of  the  stilly  glade, 

For  Christ  is  there,  nor  will  His  heart  forget 
The  striving  of  thy  soul.  Be  not  afraid ! 

O  priest  and  people  mingled  into  and  one, 
Within  thy  green  cathedral  aisles  no  less 
He  stands  above  thee  when,  the  prayer  begun, 
Thou  callest  Him,  O  Child  of  loneliness. 

’Tis  sweet  where  every  downy  throat’s  a  well 
Of  song  itself — to  worship  in  the  grass, 

Thine  altar’s  base  fast-founded  on  a  swell 
Near  a  glade  where  elms  and  beeches  pass : 
There  is  space  for  breath,  and  there,  content, 

If  aught  should  be  forgiven,  kneel,  confess; 
Over  thy  head  the  boundless  firmament, 

God’s  love,  God’s  wisdom,  Child  of  loneliness. 


rom  the  HIERARCHIE  OF  THE  BLESSED  ANGELS 

Thomas  Heywood 

I  sought  thee  round  about,  O  thou  my  God! 

In  thine  abode. 

I  said  unto  the  earth,  “Speak,  art  thou  he?” 

She  answered  me. 


36  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

“I  am  not.”  I  inquired  of  creatures  all, 

In  general, 

Contained  therein.  They  with  one  voice  proclaim 

That  none  amongst  them  challenged  such  a  name. 

I  asked  the  seas  and  all  the  deeps  below, 

My  God  to  know; 

I  asked  the  reptiles  and  whatever  is 
In  the  abyss, — 

Even  from  the  shrimp  to  the  leviathan 
Inquiry  ran; 

But  in  those  deserts  which  no  line  can  sound, 

The  God  I  sought  for  was  not  to  be  found. 

I  asked  the  air  if  that  were  he!  but  lo! 

It  told  me  “No.” 

I  from  the  towering  eagle  to  the  wren 
Demanded  then 

If  any  feathered  fowl  ’mongst  them  were  such; 

But  they  all,  much 

Offended  with  my  question,  in  full  choir, 

Answered,  “To  find  thy  God  thou  must  look  higher.” 

I  asked  the  heavens,  sun,  moon,  and  stars;  but  they 
Said,  “We  obey 

The  God  thou  seekest.”  I  asked  what  eye  or  ear 
Could  see  or  hear, — 

What  in  the  world  I  might  descry  or  know 
Above,  below ; 

With  an  unanimous  voice,  all  these  things  said, 

“We  are  not  God,  but  we  by  him  were  made.” 

I  asked  the  world’s  great  universal  mass 
If  that  God  was; 

Which  with  a  mighty  and  strong  voice  replied, 

As  stupefied, — 

“I  am  not  he,  O  man !  for  know  that  I 
By  him  on  high 

Was  fashioned  first  of  nothing;  thus  instated 

And  swayed  by  him  by  whom  I  was  created.” 


THE  SEARCH  AFTER  GOD  37 

I  sought  the  court ;  but  smooth-tongued  flattery  there 
Deceived  each  ear; 

I’  the  thronged  city  there  was  selling,  buying, 

Swearing,  and  lying; 

I’  the  country,  craft  in  simpleness  arrayed, 

And  then  I  said, — 

“Vain  is  my  search,  although  my  pains  be  great; 

Where  my  God  is  there  can  be  no  deceit.” 

A  scrutiny  within  myself  I  then 
Even  thus  began : 

“O  man,  what  art  thou?”  What  more  could  I  say 
Than  dust  and  clay, — 

Frail,  mortal,  fading,  a  mere  puff,  a  blast, 

That  cannot  last; 

Enthroned  today,  tomorrow  in  an  urn, 

Formed  from  that  earth  to  which  I  must  return? 

I  asked  myself  what  this  great  God  might  be 
That  fashioned  me. 

I  answered :  The  all-potent,  sole,  immense, 

Surpassing  sense; 

Unspeakable,  inscrutable,  eternal, 

Lord  over  all ; 

The  only  terrible,  strong,  just,  and  true, 

Who  hath  no  end,  and  no  beginning  knew. 

He  is  the  well  of  life,  for  he  doth  give 
To  all  that  live 

Both  breath  and  being;  he  is  the  Creator 
Both  of  the  water, 

Earth,  air,  and  fire.  Of  all  things  that  subsist 
He  hath  the  list, — 

Of  all  the  heavenly  host,  or  what  earth  claims, 

He  keeps  the  scroll,  and  calls  them  by  their  names. 

And  now,  my  God,  by  thine  illumining  grace, 

Thy  glorious  face 

(So  far  forth  as  it  may  discovered  be) 

Methinks  I  see ; 


38  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


And  though  invisible  and  infinite, 

To  human  sight 

Thou,  in  thy  mercy,  justice,  truth,  appearest, 

In  which,  to  our  frail  senses  thou  comst  nearest. 

O,  make  us  apt  to  seek  and  quick  to  find, 

Thou,  God,  most  kind ! 

Give  us  love,  hope,  and  faith,  in  thee  to  trust, 
Thou,  God,  most  just! 

Remit  all  our  offences,  we  entreat, 

Most  good  !  most  great ! 

Grant  that  our  willing,  though  unworthy  quest 
May,  through  thy  grace,  admit  us  ’mongst  the  blest. 


THE  HILL 
Horace  Holley 
Be  not  too  certain,  life ! 

(Or  is  that  power  of  death,  that  tedious  power 

Which  with  insistent  sneer 

Shatters  continually  and  steeps  in  slime 

The  difficult  house  I  raise 

The  house  of  consciousness?)  — 

Be  not  too  certain  of  me ; 

Deem  me  not  wholly  tamed, 

Content  with  labour  ineffectual 
Upon  this  ruined  house  of  thought; 

Or,  turning  to  things  outside, 

Content  to  hurry  a  life-time  through  these  streets 
Darkened  with  vaster  ineffectiveness 
Even  this  sea-flung,  sea-swift  fog 
Makes  so  pathetic  romance  of ! 

Count  not  too  long  upon  my  slavehood ! 

For  as  I  have  often  dreamed, 

There  is  a  hill 

Sloping  against  the  dizzy,  mystic  sky 
Whither,  in  a  moment,  I  can  go. 

There  is  a  hill 


THE  SEARCH  AFTER  GOD 


39 


And,  pausing  for  courageous  breath 
Pace  after  pace  I’ll  climb 
Fleeing  from  thee,  O  insufficient  life ! 

A  weak,  yet  conscious  Christ 
Bearing  his  cross  of  aspiration, 

O,  bleeding  and  gasping  on  that  hill 
To  me  the  vision  of  things 
Already  perfect,  consummated  present 
Sudden  will  rise,  and  I  shall  thrill 
With  powers  you  know  not  of, 

Old  tedious  world  of  streets, — 

Inevitable  failure,  self-deception 
Death-in-life ; 

For,  writhing  as  I  might  be 
In  supreme  pain,  and  broken 
Upon  the  wheel  of  dissolution, 

Never  was  so  great  aspiration  void; 

And  I  shall  wholly  triumph 

Convinced  at  last  of  my  own  perfect  soul, 

And  God,  the  soul’s  desire. 

LOST  AND  FOUND 
George  MacDonald 

I  missed  him  when  the  sun  began  to  bend ; 

I  found  him  not  when  I  had  lost  his  rim; 

With  many  tears  I  went  in  search  of  him, 
Climbing  high  mountains  which  did  still  ascend, 
And  gave  me  echoes  when  I  called  my  friend; 
Through  cities  vast  and  charnel-houses  grim, 

And  high  cathedrals  where  the  light  was  dim, 
Through  books  and  arts  and  works  without  an  end, 
But  found  him  not — the  friend  whom  I  had  lost. 
And  yet  I  found  him — as  I  found  the  lark, 

A  sound  in  fields  I  heard  but  could  not  mark; 

I  found  him  nearest  when  I  missed  him  most; 

I  found  him  in  my  heart,  a  life  in  frost, 

A  light  I  knew  not  till  my  soul  was  dark. 


4o  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


REVELATION 
Edwin  Markham 

I  made  a  pilgrimage  to  find  the  God: 

I  listened  for  His  voice  at  holy  tombs, 

Searched  for  the  print  of  His  immortal  feet 
In  dust  of  broken  altars :  yet  turned  back 
With  empty  heart.  But  on  the  homeward  road, 
A  great  light  came  upon  me,  and  I  heard 
The  God’s  voice  singing  in  a  nestling  lark ; 

Felt  his  sweet  wonder  in  a  swaying  rose; 
Received  his  blessing  from  a  wayside  well; 
Looked  on  his  beauty  in  a  lover’s  face ; 

Saw  his  bright  hand  send  signals  from  the  suns. 


CREDO 

Edwin  Arlington  Robinson 

I  cannot  find  my  way :  there  is  no  star 
In  all  the  shrouded  heavens  anywhere; 

And  there  is  not  a  whisper  in  the  air 
Of  any  living  voice  but  one  so  far 
That  I  can  hear  it  only  as  a  bar 
Of  lost,  imperial  music,  played  when  fair 
And  angel  fingers  wove,  and  unaware, 

Dead  leaves  to  garlands  where  no  roses  are. 

No,  there  is  not  a  glimmer,  nor  a  call, 

For  one  that  welcomes,  welcomes  when  he  fears, 
The  black  and  awful  chaos  of  the  night ; 

For  through  it  all, — above,  beyond  it  all, — 

I  know  the  far-sent  message  of  the  years, 

I  feel  the  coming  glory  of  the  Light ! 


THE  SEARCH  AFTER  GOD 


4i 


THE  UNKNOWN  GOD 

George  William  Russell  (A.  E .) 

Far  up  the  dim  twilight  fluttered 
Moth  wings  of  vapour  and  flame : 
The  lights  danced  over  the  mountains, 
Star  after  star  they  came. 

The  lights  grew  thicker  unheeded, 
For  silent  and  still  were  we; 

Our  hearts  were  drunk  with  a  beauty 
Our  eyes  could  never  see. 


WHO  BY  SEARCHING  CAN  FIND  OUT  GOD? 

Eliza  Scudder 

I  cannot  find  Thee  !  Still  on  rfestless  pinion 
My  spirit  beats  the  void  where  Thou  dost  dwell; 

I  wander  lost  through  all  Thy  vast  dominion, 

And  shrink  beneath  Thy  light  ineffable. 

I  cannot  find  Thee !  Even  when  most  adoring 
Before  Thy  shrine  I  bend  in  lowliest  prayer, 

Beyond  these  bounds  of  thought,  my  thought  upsoaring, 
From  farthest  quest  comes  back :  Thou  art  not  there. 

Yet  high  above  the  limits  of  my  seeing, 

And  folded  far  within  the  inmost  heart, 

And  deep  below  the  deeps  of  conscious  being, 

Thy  splendor  shineth ;  there,  O  God,  Thou  art. 

1  cannot  lose  Thee !  Still  in  Thee  abiding 
The  end  is  clear,  how  wide  so  e’er  I  roam; 

The  Law  that  holds  the  worlds  my  steps  is  guiding, 
And  I  must  rest  at  last  in  Thee,  my  home. 


THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


MASTERY 
Sara  Teasdale 

I  would  not  have  a  god  come  in 
To  shield  me  suddenly  from  sin, 

And  set  my  house  of  life  to  rights; 

Nor  angels  with  bright  burning  wings 
Ordering  my  earthly  thoughts  and  things ; 
Rather  my  own  frail  guttering  lights 
Windblown  and  nearly  beaten  out, 

Rather  the  terror  of  the  nights 
And  long  sich  groping  after  doubt. 

Rather  be  lost  than  let  my  soul 
Slip  vaguely  from  my  own  control — 

Of  my  own  spirit  let  me  be 
In  sole,  though  feeble,  mastery. 


DOUBT 

Alfred  Tennyson 

From  In  Memoricun,  XCVI 

You  say,  but  with  no  touch  of  scorn, 

Sweet-hearted,  you,  whose  light-blue  eyes 
Are  tender  over  drowning  flies, 

You  tell  me,  doubt  is  Devil-born. 

I  know  not:  one  indeed  I  knew 
In  many  a  subtle  question  versed, 

Wdio  touched  a  jarring  lyre  at  first, 

But  ever  strove  to  make  it  true; 

Perplexed  in  faith,  but  pure  in  deeds, 

At  last  he  beat  his  music  out. 

There  lives  more  faith  in  honest  doubt, 
Believe  me,  than  in  half  the  creeds. 


THE  SEARCH  AFTER  GOD 


43 


He  fought  his  doubts  and  gather’d  strength, 
He  would  not  make  his  judgment  blind, 
He  faced  the  spectres  of  the  mind 
And  laid  them :  Thus  he  came  at  length 

To  find  a  stronger  faith  his  own, 

And  Power  was  with  him  in  the  night, 
Which  makes  the  darkness  and  the  light, 
And  dwells  not  in  the  light  alone, 

But  in  the  darkness  and  the  cloud, 

As  over  Sinai’s  peaks  of  old, 

While  Israel  made  their  gods  of  gold, 
Although  the  trumpet  blew  so  loud. 


THE  LARGER  HOPE 

Alfred  Tennyson 

From  In  Memoriam,  LIV 

O,  yet  we  trust  that  somehow  good 
Will  be  the  final  goal  of  ill, 

To  pangs  of  nature,  sins  of  will, 
Defects  of  doubt  and  taints  of  blood; 

That  nothing  walks  with  aimless  feet; 
That  not  one  life  shall  be  destroyed, 
Or  cast  as  rubbish  to  the  void, 

When  God  hath  made  the  pile  complete ; 

That  not  a  worm  is  cloven  in  vain; 
That  not  a  moth  with  vain  desire 
Is  shrivelled  in  a  fruitless  fire, 

Or  but  subserves  another’s  gain. 

Behold,  we  know  not  anything; 

I  can  but  trust  that  good  shall  fall 
At  last — far  off — at  last,  to  all, 

And  every  winter  change  to  spring. 


44 


THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

So  runs  my  dream;  but  what  am  I? 

An  infant  crying  in  the  night; 

An  infant  crying  for  the  light, 

And  with  no  language  but  a  cry. 


IN  NO  STRANGE  LAND 
Francis  Thompson 

O  world  invisible,  we  view  thee, 

O  world  intangible,  we  touch  thee, 

O  world  unknowable,  we  know  thee, 
Inapprehensible,  we  clutch  thee ! 

Does  the  fish  soar  to  find  the  ocean, 

The  eagle  plunge  to  find  the  air 

That  we  ask  of  the  stars  in  motion 
If  they  have  rumor  of  thee  there? 

Not  where  the  wheeling  systems  darken, 

And  our  benumbed  conceiving  soars ! 

The  drift  of  pinions,  would  we  harken, 

Beats  at  our  own  clay-shuttered  doors. 

The  angels  keep  their  ancient  places; — 

Turn  but  a  stone  and  start  a  wing ! 

’Tis  ye,  ’tis  your  estranged  faces, 

That  miss  the  tnany-splendored  thing. 

But  (when  so  sad  thou  canst  not  sadder) 

Cry;  and  upon  thy  so  sore  loss 

Shall  shine  the  traffic  of  Jacob’s  ladder 

Pitched  between  Heaven  and  Charing  Cross, 

Yea,  in  the  night,  my  Soul,  my  daughter, 

Cry,  clinging  heaven  by  the  hems : 

And  lo,  Christ  walking  on  the  water, 

Not  of  Gennesaret,  but  Thames ! 


THE  SEARCH  AFTER  GOD 


THE  HOUND  OF  HEAVEN 
Francis  Thompson 

I  fled  Him,  down  the  nights  and  down  the  days; 

I  fled  Him  down  the  arches  of  the  years ;  • 

I  fled  Him  down  the  labyrinthine  ways^ 

Of  my  own  mind;  and  in  the  midst  of  tears. 

I  hid  from  Him  and  under  running  laughter. 

Up  vistaed  hopes  I  sped; 

And  shot,  precipitated 
Adown  titanic  glooms  of  chasmed  fears, 

From  those  strong  Feet  that  followed,  followed  after. 
But  with  unhurrying  chase 
And  unperturbed  pace, 

Deliberate  speed,  majestic  instancy 
They  beat — and  a  Voice  beat 
More  instant  than  the  Feet — 

“All  things  betray  thee,  who  betrayest  Me.” 

I  pleaded,  outlaw-wise, 

By  many  a  hearted  casement,  curtained  red, 

Trellised  with  intertwining  charities; 

(For,  though  I  knew  His  love  Who  followed, 

Yet  I  was  sore  adread 

Lest  having  Him  I  must  have  naught  beside;) 

But,  if  one  little  casement  parted  wide, 

The  gust  of  His  approach  would  clash  it  to. 

Fear  wist  not  to  evade  as  Love  wist  to  pursue. 
Across  the  margent  of  the  world  I  fled, 

And  troubled  the  gold  gateways  of  the  stars, 
Smiting  for  shelter  on  their  clanged  bars ; 

Fretted  to  dulcet  jars 

And  silvern  chatter  the  pale  ports  o’  the  moon. 

I  said  to  dawn,  Be  sudden ;  to  eve,  Be  soon ; 

With  thy  young  skyey  blossoms  heap  me  over 
From  this  tremendous  Lover! 

Float  thy  vague  veil  about  me,  lest  He  see ! 

I  tempted  all  His  servitors,  but  to  find 


46  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


My  own  betrayal  in  their  constancy, 

In  faith  to  Him  their  fickleness  to  me, 

Their  traitorous  trueness,  and  their  loyal  deceit. 
To  all  swift  things  for  swiftness  did  I  sue; 

Clung  to  the  whistling  mane  of  every  wind. 

But  whether  they  swept,  smoothly  fleet, 

The  long  savannahs  of  the  blue ; 

Or,  whether,  thunder-driven, 

They  clanged  His  chariot  ’thwart  a  heaven 
Plashy  with  flying  lightnings  round  the  spurn  o’ 
their  feet; — 

Fear  wist  not  to  evade  as  Love  wist  to  pursue. 
Still  with  unhurrying  chase 
And  unperturbed  pace, 

Deliberate  speed,  majestic  instancy, 

Came  on  the  following  Feet, 

And  a  Voice  above  their  beat — 

“Naught  shelters  thee,  who  wilt  not  shelter  Me/’ 

I  sought  no  more  that  after  which  I  strayed, 

In  face  of  man  or  maid; 

But  still  within  the  little  children’s  eyes 
Seems  something,  something  that  replies; 

They  are  at  least  for  me,  surely  for  me ! 

I  turned  me  to  them  very  wistfully; 

But  just  as  their  young  eyes  grew  sudden  fair 
With  dawning  answers  there, 

Their  angel  plucked  them  from  me  by  the  hair. 
“Come,  then,  ye  other  children — Nature’s — share 
With  me”  (said  I)  “your  delicate  fellowship; 

Let  me  greet  you,  lip  to  lip, 

Let  me  twine  you  with  caresses, 

Wantoning 

With  our  Lady  Mother’s  vagrant  tresses, 
Banqueting 

With  her  in  her  wind-walled  palace, 

Underneath  her  azure  dais. 

Quaffing,  as  your  taintless  way  is, 

From  a  chalice 

Lucent-weeping  out  of  the  dayspring. ” 

So  it  was  done : 


THE  SEARCH  AFTER  GOD 


47 


I  in  their  delicate  fellowship  was  one — 

Drew  the  bolt  of  nature’s  secrecies. 

I  knew  all  the  swift  importings 
Of  the  wilful  face  of  the  skies, 

I  knew  how  the  clouds  arise 
Spumed  of  the  wild  sea  snortings; 

All  that’s  born  or  dies 
Rose  and  drooped  with — made  them  shapers 
Of  mine  own  moods,  or  wailful  or  Divine —  i 
With  them  joyed  or  was  bereaven. 

I  was  heavy  with  the  even 
When  she  lit  her  glimmering  tapers 
Round  the  day’s  dead  sanctities. 

I  laughed  in  the  morning’s  eyes. 

I  triumphed  and  I  saddened  with  all  weather, 

Heaven  and  I  wept  together, 

And  its  sweet  tears  were  salt  with  mortal  mine; 
Against  the  red  throb  of  its  sunset-heart 
I  laid  my  own  to  beat, 

And  share  commingling  heat ; 

But  not  by  that,  by  that,  was  eased  my  human  smart. 
In  vain  my  tears  were  wet  on  Heaven’s  grey  cheek. 
For  ah !  we  know  not  what  each  other  says, 

These  things  and  I ;  in  sound  I  speak — 

Their  sound  is  but  their  stir,  they  speak  by  silences. 
Nature,  poor  stepdame,  cannot  slake  my  drouth; 

Let  her,  if  she  would  owe  me, 

Drop  yon  blue  bosom-veil  of  sky’,  and  show  me 
The  breasts  o’  her  tenderness: 

Never  did  any  milk  of  hers  once  bless 
My  thirsting  mouth. 

Nigh  and  nigh  draws  the  chase 
With  unperturbed  pace, 

Deliberate  speed,  majestic  instancy; 

And  past  those  noised  Feet 
A  voice  comes  yet  more  fleet — 

“Lo,  naught  contents  thee,  who  content’st  not  Me.” 

Naked  I  wait  thy  love’s  uplifted  stroke. 

My  harness,  piece  by  piece,  thou  hast  hewn  from  me, 


48  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

And  smitten  me  to  my  knee; 

I  am  defenseless  utterly. 

I  slept,  methinks,  and  woke 
And  slowly  gazing,  find  me  stripped  in  sleep. 

In  the  rash  lustihood  of  my  young  powers, 

I  stood  the  pillaring  hours 
And  pulled  my  life  upon  me ;  grimed  with  smears 
I  stand  amid  the  dust  o’  the  mounded  years — 

My  mangled  youth  lies  dead  beneath  the  heap. 

My  days  have  crackled  and  gone  up  in  smoke, 

Have  puffed  and  burst  as  sun-starts  on  a  stream. 

Yea,  faileth  now  even  dream 
The  dreamer,  and  the  lute  the  lutanist ; 

Even  the  linked  fantasies  in  whose  blossomy  twist 
I  swung  the  earth,  a  trinket  at  my  wrist, 

Are  yielding;  cords  of  all  too  weak  account 
For  earth  with  heavy  griefs  so  overplussed. 

Ah !  is  Thy  love  indeed 
A  weed,  albeit  an  amaranthine  weed, 

Suffering  no  flowers  except  its  own  to  mount? 

Ah !  must — 

Designer  Infinite ! — 

Ah,  must  Thou  char  the  wood  ere  Thou  canst  limn 
with  it? 

My  freshness  spent  its  wavering  shower  i’  the  dust: 
And  now  my  heart  is  as  a  broken  fount, 

Wherein  tear-drippings  stagnate,  spilt  down  ever 
From  the  dank  thoughts  that  shiver 
Upon  the  sighful  branches  of  my  mind. 

Such  is ;  what  is  to  be  ? 

The  pulp  so  bitter,  how  shall  taste  the  rind? 

I  dimly  guess  what  Time  in  mists  confounds: 

Yet  ever  and  anon  a  trumpet  sounds 
From  the  hid  battlements  of  Eternity; 

Those  shaken  mists  a  space  unsettle,  then 
Round  the  half-glimpsed  turrets  slowly  wash  again. 
But  not  ere  him  who  summoneth 
I  first  have  seen,  enwound 
With  glooming  robes  purpureal,  cypress-crowned; 


THE  SEARCH  AFTER  GOD 


49 


His  name  I  know  and  what  his  trumpet  saith. 
Whether  man’s  heart  or  life  it  be  which  yields 
Thee  harvest,  must  Thy  harvest  fields 
Be  dunged  with  rotten  death? 

Now  of  that  long  pursuit 
Comes  on  at  hand  the  bruit; 

That  Voice  is  round  me  like  a  bursting  sea: 

“And  is  thy  earth  so  marred, 

Shattered  in  shard  on  shard? 

Lo,  all  things  fly  thee,  for  thou  flyest  Me ! 

Strange,  piteous,  futile  thing, 

Wherefore  should  any  set  thee  love  apart? 

Seeing  none  but  I  makes  much  of  naught”  (He  said), 
“And  human  love  needs  human  meriting: 

How  hast  thou  merited — 

Of  all  man’s  clotted  clay  the  dingiest  clot? 

Alack,  thou  knowest  not 
How  little  worthy  of  any  love  thou  art ! 

Whom  wilt  thou  find  to  love  ignoble  thee 
Save  Me,  save  only  Me? 

All  which  I  took  from  thee,  I  did  but  take 
Not  for  thy  harms, 

But  just  that  thou  mightst  seek  it  in  My  arms. 

All  which  thy  child’s  mistake 
Fancies  as  lost,  I  have  stored  for  thee  at  home : 

Rise,  clasp  My  hand  and  come !” 

Halts  by  me  that  footfall : 

Is  my  gloom,  after  all, 

Shade  of  His  hand,  outstretched  caressingly? 

“Ah,  fondest,  blindest,  weakest, 

I  am  He  Whom  thou  seekest ! 

Thou  dravest  love  from  thee,  who  dravest  Me.” 


50  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


THE  SEARCH 

Psalms  XLII  and  XLIII 

From  Moulton’s  Modern  Readers'  Bible 

As  the  hart  panteth  after  the  water  brooks, 

So  panteth  my  soul  after  thee,  O  God. 

My  soul  thirsteth  for  God,  for  the  living  God: 

When  shall  I  come  and  appear  before  God : 

My  tears  have  been  my  meat  day  and  night, 

While  they  continually  say  unto  me,  Where  is  thy  God? 
These  things  I  remember, 

And  pour  out  my  soul  within  me, 

How  I  went  with  the  throng,  and  led  them  to  the  house  of  God, 
With  the  voice  of  joy  and  praise,  a  multitude  keeping  holyday. 

Refrain  : 

Why  art  thou  cast  down ,  O  my  soul ? 

And  why  art  thou  disquieted  within  me? 

Hope  thou  in  God 
For  I  shall  yet  praise  Him , 

Who  is  the  health  of  my  countenance , 

And  my  God . 


My  soul  is  cast  down  within  me : 

Therefore  do  I  remember  thee  from  the  land  of  Jordan, 

And  the  Hermons,  from  the  hill  Mizar. 

Deep  calleth  unto  deep  at  the  noise  of  thy  water-spouts : 

All  thy  waves  and  thy  billows  are  gone  over  me. 

Yet  the  Lord  will  command  his  loving  kindness  in  the  daytime, 
And  in  the  night  his  song  shall  be  with  me, 

Even  as  a  prayer  unto  the  God  of  my  life. 

I  will  say  unto  God  my  rock,  Why  hast  thou  forgotten  me? 

Why  go  I  mourning  because  of  the  oppression  of  mine  enemy? 
As  with  a  sword  in  my  bones,  mine  adversaries  reproach  me; 
While  they  continually  say  unto  me,  Where  is  thy  God? 


THE  SEARCH  AFTER  GOD 


51 


Refrain  : 

Why  art  thou  cast  down,  O  my  soul? 

And  why  art  thou  disquieted  within  me? 

Hope  thou  in  God 
For  I  shall  yet  praise  Him, 

Who  is  the  health  of  my  countenance, 

And  my  God. 

Judge  me,  O  God,  and  plead  my  cause  against  an  ungodly 
nation : 

O  deliver  me  from  the  deceitful  and  unjust  man. 

For  thou  art  the  God  of  my  strength,  why  hast  thou  cast  me  off? 

Why  go  I  mourning  because  of  the  oppression  of  mine  enemy? 
O  send  out  thy  light  and  thy  truth; 

Let  them  lead  me : 

Let  them  bring  me  unto  the  holy  hill, 

And  to  thy  tabernacles. 

Then  will  I  go  unto  the  altar  of  God, 

Unto  God  my  exceeding  joy: 

And  upon  the  harp  will  I  praise  thee,  O  God,  my  God. 

Refrain  : 

Why  art  thou  cast  down,  0  my  soul? 

And  why  art  thou  disquieted  within  me? 

Hope  thou  in  God 
For  I  shall  yet  praise  Him, 

Who  is  the  health  of  my  countenance, 

And  my  God . 


AT  THE  END  OF  THINGS 

Arthur  Edward  Waite 

The  world  uprose  as  a  man  to  find  Him — 

Ten  thousand  methods,  ten  thousand  ends — 
Some  bent  on  treasure;  the  more  on  pleasure; 

And  some  on  the  chaplet  which  fame  attends : 
But  the  great  deep’s  voice  in  the  distance  dim 
Said :  Peace,  it  is  well ;  they  are  seeking  Him. 


THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


When  I  heard  that  all  the  world  was  questing, 

I  look’d  for  a  palmer’s  staff  and  found, 

By  a  reed-fringed  pond,  a  fork’d  hazel  wand 
On  a  twisted  tree,  in  a  bann’d  waste-ground; 

But  I  knew  not  then  what  the  sounding  strings 
Of  the  sea  harps  say  at  the  end  of  things. 

They  told  me,  world,  you  were  keen  on  seeking; 

I  cast  around  for  a  scrip  to  hold 
Such  meagre  needs  as  the  roots  of  weeds — 

All  weeds,  but  one  with  a  root  of  gold; 

Yet  I  knew  not  then  how  the  clangs  ascend 
When  the  sea  horns  peal  and  the  searchings  end. 

An  old  worn  wallet  was  that  they  gave  me, 

With  twelve  old  signs  on  its  seven  old  skins; 

And  a  star  I  stole  for  the  good  of  my  soul, 

Lest  the  darkness  come  down  on  my  sins ; 

For  I  knew  not  who  in  their  life  had  heard 
Of  the  sea  pipes  shrilling  a  secret  word. 

I  join’d  the  quest  that  the  world  was  making, 

Which  follow’d  the  false  ways  far  and  wide, 
While  a  thousand  cheats  in  the  lanes  and  streets 
Offer’d  that  wavering  crowd  to  guide; 

But  what  did  they  know  of  the  sea  reed’s  speech 
When  the  peace-words  breathe  at  the  end  for  each  ? 

The  fools  fell  down  in  the  swamps  and  marshes; 

The  fools  died  hard  on  the  crags  and  hills; 

The  lies  which  cheated,  so  long  repeated, 

Deceived,  in  spite  of  their  evil  wills, 

Some  knaves  themselves  at  the  end  of  all — 

Though  how  should  they  hearken  when  sea  flutes  call 

But  me  the  scrip  and  the  staff  had  strengthen’d; 

I  carried  the  star ;  that  star  led  me : 

The  paths  I’ve  taken,  of  most  forsaken, 

Do  surely  lead  to  an  open  sea : 

As  a  clamour  of  voices  heard  in  sleep, 

Come  shouts  through  the  dark  on  the  shrouded  deep. 


THE  SEARCH  AFTER  GOD 


53 


Now  it  is  noon;  in  the  hush  prevailing 

Pipes,  harps  and  horns  into  flute-notes  fall; 

The  sea,  conceding  my  star’s  true  leading, 

In  tongues  sublime  at  the  end  of  all 
Gives  resonant  utterance  far  and  near : — 

“Cast  away  fear; 

Be  of  good  cheer; 

He  is  here, 

Is  here!” 

And  now  I  know  that  I  sought  Him  only 
Even  as  child,  when  for  flowers  I  sought; 

In  the  sins  of  youth,  as  in  search  for  truth, 

To  find  Him,  hold  Him  alone  I  wrought. 

The  knaves  too  seek  Him,  and  fools  beguiled — - 
So  speak  to  them  also,  sea  voices  mild ! 

Which  then  was  wisdom  and  which  was  folly? 

Did  my  star  more  than  the  cozening  guide  ? 

The  fool,  as  I  think,  at  the  chasm’s  brink, 

Prone  by  the  swamp  or  the  marsh’s  side, 

Did,  even  as  I,  in  the  end  rejoice, 

Since  the  voice  of  death  must  be  His  true  voice. 


GOD-SEEKING 
William  Watson 

God-seeking  thou  hast  journeyed  far  and  nigh. 

On  dawn-lit  mountain  top  thy  soul  did  yearn 
To  hear  His  trailing  garments  wander  by: 

And  where,  ’mid  thunderous  glooms  great  sunsets 
burn,. 

Vainly  thou  soughtest  His  shadow  on  sea  and  sky: 

Or,  gazing  up,  at  noon  tide,  couldst  discern 
Only  a  neutral  heaven’s  indifferent  eye 
And  countenance  austerely  taciturn. 


THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


Yet  whom  thou  soughtest  I  have  found  at  last, 
Neither  where  tempest  dims  the  world  below, 
Nor  where  the  westering  daylight  reels  aghast 
In  conflagrations  of  red  overthrow; 

But  where  this  virgin  brooklet  silvers  past 

And  yellowing  either  bank  the  king-cups  blow. 


REFRACTED  LIGHTS 

Celia  Parker  Wooley 

The  evening  star  that  softly  sheds 
Its  tender  light  on  me, 

Hath  other  place  in  the  heavenly  blue, 
Than  that  I  seem  to  see. 

Too  faint  and  slender  is  that  beam 
To  keep  its  pathway  true 
In  the  vast  space  of  cloud  and  mist 
It  seeks  an  exit  through. 


Nor  light  of  star  nor  truth  of  God 
To  earth-born  clouds  and  doubts 
Can  straightway  pierce  the  hearts  of  men 
And  drive  the  darkness  out. 

On  bent,  misshapen  lines  of  faith 
We  backward  strive  to  trace 
The  love  and  glory  that  we  ne’er 
Could  look  on  face  to  face. 


Each  fails  thru  dim  and  wandering  sight 
The  vision  whole  to  see ; 

But  none  are  there  so  poor  and  blind 
But  catch  some  glimpse  of  Thee — 
Some  knowledge  of  the  better  way 
And  of  that  life  divine 
Of  which  our  yearning  hope  is  both 
The  prophecy  and  sign. 


THE  SEARCH  AFTER  GOD 


55 


ZOROASTER  DEVOUTLY  QUESTIONS  ORMAZD 

Translated  by  A.  V.  Williams  Jackson 

This  I  ask  Thee — tell  it  to  me  truly,  Lord ! 

Who  the  Sire  was,  Father  first  of  Holiness? 

Who  the  pathway  for  the  sun  and  stars  ordained? 

Who,  through  whom  its  moon  doth  wax  and  wane  again? 

This  and  much  else  do  I  long,  O  God,  to  know. 

This  I  ask  Thee — tell  it  to  me  truly,  Lord ! 

Who  set  firmly  earth  below,  and  kept  the  sky 
Sure  from  falling?  Who  the  streams  and  trees  did  make? 
Who  their  swiftness  to  the  winds  and  clouds  hath  yoked? 
Who,  O  Mazda,  was  the  Founder  of  Good  Thought? 

This  I  ask  Thee — tell  it  to  me  truly,  Lord ! 

Who,  benignant,  made  the  darkness  and  the  light? 

Who,  benignant,  sleep  and  waking  did  create? 

Who  the  morning,  noon,  and  evening  did  decree 
As  reminders  to  the  wise,  of  duty’s  call? 


b.  THE  UNSUCCESSFUL  SEARCHERS 


THE  FALCONER  OF  GOD 
William  Rose  Bemet 

I  flung  my  soul  to  the  air  like  a  falcon  flying. 

I  said,  “Wait  on!  wait  on!  while  I  ride  below! 

I  shall  start  a  heron  soon 
In  the  marsh  beneath  the  moon — 

A  strange  white  heron,  rising  with  silver  on  its  wings, 
Rising  and  crying 
Wordless,  wondrous  things; 


56  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

The  secret  of  the  stars,  of  the  world’s  heart-strings, 

The  answer  to  their  woe. 

Then  stoop  thou  upon  him,  and  grip  and  hold  him  so !” 

My  soul  waited  on  as  falcons  hover. 

I  beat  the  reedy  fens  as  I  trampled  past. 

I  heard  the  mournful  loon 
In  the  marsh  beneath  the  moon. 

And  then,  with  feathery  thunder,  the  bird  of  my  desire 
Broke  from  the  cover 
Flashing  silver  fire. 

High  up  among  the  stars  I  saw  his  pinions  spire. 

The  pale  clouds  gazed  aghast 

As  my  falcon  stooped  upon  him,  and  gript  and  held  him  fast. 

My  soul  dropped  through  the  air — -with  heavenly  plunder? — 
Gripping  the  dazzling  bird  my  dreaming  knew  ? 

Nay !  but  a  piteous  freight, 

A  dark  and  heavy  weight 

Despoiled  of  silver  plumage,  its  voice  forever  stilled — 

All  of  the  wonder 
Gone  that  ever  filled 

Its  guise  with  glory.  O  bird  that  I  have  killed, 

How  brilliantly  you  flew 

Across  my  rapturous  vision  when  first  I  dreamed  of  you ! 

Yet  I  fling  my  soul  on  high  with  new  endeavor, 

As  I  ride  the  world  below  with  a  joyful  mind. 

I  shall  start  a  heron  soon 
In  the  marsh  belozv  the  moon — 

A  wondrous  silver  heron  its  inner  darkness  fledges! 

I  beat  forever 

The  fens  and  the  sedges. 

The  pledge  is  still  the  same — for  all  disastrous  pledges, 
All  hopes  resigned ! 

My  soul  still  flies  above  me  for  the  quarry  it  shall  find ! 


THE  SEARCH  AFTER  GOD 


57 


GOD 

Gamaliel  Bradford 

Day  and  night  I  wander  widely  through  the  wilderness  of 
thought, 

Catching  dainty  things  of  fancy  most  reluctant  to  be  caught, 
Shining  tangles  leading  nowhere  persistently  unravel, 

Tread  strange  paths  of  meditation  very  intricate  to  travel. 

Gleaming  bits  of  quaint  desire  tempt  my  steps  beyond  the  decent, 
I  confound  old  solid  glory  with  publicity  too  recent. 

But  my  one  unchanged  obsession,  wheresoe’er  my  feet  have  trod, 
Is  a  keen,  enormous,  haunting,  never-sated  thirst  for  God. 


AN  UNBELIEVER 

Anna  Hempstead  Branch 

All  these  on  whom  the  sacred  seal  was  set, 

They  could  forsake  thee  while  thine  eyes  were  wet. 
Brother,  not  once  have  I  believed  in  thee, 

Yet,  having  seen,  I  cannot  once  forget. 

I  have  looked  long  into  those  friendly  eyes, 

And  found  thee  dreaming,  fragile  and  unwise. 
Brother,  not  once  have  I  believed  in  thee, 

Yet  have  I  loved  thee  for  thy  gracious  lies. 

One  broke  with  thee  a  kiss  at  eventide, 

And  he  that  loved  thee  well  has  thrice  denied. 
Brother,  I  have  no  faith  in  thee  at  all, 

Yet  must  I  seek  thy  hands,  thy  feet,  thy  side. 

Behold  that  John  that  leaned  upon  thy  breast; 

His  eyes  grew  heavy  and  he  needs  must  rest. 

I  watched  unseen  through  dark  Gethsemane 
And  might  not  slumber,  for  I  loved  thee  best. 


58  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


Peace  thou  wilt  give  to  them  of  troubled  mind, 

Bread  to  the  hungry,  spittle  to  the  blind. 

My  heart  is  broken  for  my  unbelief, 

But  that  thou  canst  not  heal,  though  thou  art  kind. 

They  asked  one  day  to  sit  beside  thy  throne; 

I  made  one  prayer,  in  silence  and  alone. 

Brother,  thou  knowest  my  unbelief  in  thee. 

Bear  not  my  sins,  for  thou  must  bear  thine  own. 

Even  he  that  grieves  thee  most,  “Lord,  Lord,”  he  saith, 
So  will  I  call  on  thee  with  my  last  breath ! 

Brother,  not  once  have  I  believed  in  thee. 

Yet  I  am  wounded  for  thee  unto  death. 


THE  WILD  KNIGHT 
Gilbert  K.  Chesterton 
Prologue 

The  wasting  thistle  whitens  on  my  crest, 

The  barren  grasses  blow  upon  my  spear, 

A  green  pale  pennon:  blazon  of  my  faith 
And  love  of  fruitless  things :  yea,  of  my  love, 

Among  the  golden  loves  of  all  the  knights 
Alone :  most  hopeless,  sweet  and  blasphemous, 

The  love  of  God : 

I  hear  the  crumbling  creeds 
Like  cliffs,  washed  down  by  water,  change  and  pass; 

I  hear  a  noise  of  words,  age  after  age, 

A  new  cold  wind  that  blows  across  the  plains, 

And  all  the  shrines  stand  empty;  and  to  me 

All  these  things  are  nothing :  priests  and  schools  may  doubt 

Who  never  have  believed :  but  I  have  loved. 

Ah,  friends,  I  know  it  passing  well,  the  love 
Wherewith  I  love :  it  shall  not  bring  to  me 
Return  or  hire  or  any  pleasant  thing — 


THE  SEARCH  AFTER  GOD 


59 


Ay,  I  have  tried  it :  Ay,  I  know  its  roots. 
Earthquake  and  plague  have  burst  on  it  in  vain, 
And  rolled  back  shattered — 

Babbling  neo-phytes  ! 

Blind,  startled  fools — think  you  I  know  it  not? 
Think  you  to  teach  me?  Know  I  not  His  ways? 
Strange-visaged  blunders — mystic  cruelties ; 

All !  all !  I  know  Him  for  I  love  Him.  Go ! 

So,  with  the  wan  waste  grasses  in  my  spear, 

I  ride  forever,  seeking  after  God. 

My  hair  grows  whiter  than  my  thistle-plume, 

And  all  my  bones  are  loose ;  but  in  my  eyes 
The  star  of  an  unconquerable  praise : 

For  in  my  soul  one  hope  forever  sings. 

That  at  the  next  white  corner  of  a  road 
My  eyes  may  look  on  Him.  .  .  . 

Hush — I  shall  know 

The  place  where  it  is  found :  a  twisted  path 
Under  a  twisted  pear-tree — this  I  saw 
In  the  first  dream  I  had  e’er  I  was  born, 
Wherein  He  spoke.  .  .  . 

But  the  grey  clouds  come  down 
In  hail  upon  the  icy  plains :  I  ride 
Burning  forever  in  consuming  fire. 


AT  THE  AQUARIUM 

Max  Eastman 

Serene  the  silver  fishes  glide 
Stern-lipped,  and  pale,  and  wonder-eyed ! 
As  through  the  aged  deeps  of  ocean, 
They  glide  with  wan  and  wavy  motion ! 
They  have  no  pathway  where  they  go, 
They  flow  like  water  to  and  fro. 

They  watch  with  never  winking  eyes, 
They  watch  with  staring,  cold  surprise, 


6o  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


The  level  people  in  the  air, 

The  people  peering,  peering  there; 
They  also  wander  to  and  fro, 

And  know  not  why  or  where  they  go, 
Yet  have  a  wonder  in  their  eyes, 
Sometimes  a  pale  and  cold  surprise. 


From  THE  RUBAIYAT 

Omar  Khayyam 

Translated  by  Edward  Fitzgerald 

Myself  when  young  did  eagerly  frequent 
Doctor  and  Saint,  and  heard  great  argument 
About  it  and  about :  but  evermore 
Came  out  by  the  same  door  where  in  I  went. 

With  them  the  seed  of  Wisdom  did  I  sow, 

And  with  mine  own  hand  wrought  to  make  it  grow ; 

And  this  was  all  the  Harvest  that  I  reaped — 
“I  came  like  Water,  and  like  Wind  I  go.” 

Into  this  Universe  and  Why  not  Knowing 
Nor  Whence,  like  Water  willy-nilly  flowing; 

And  out  of  it,  as  Wind  along  the  Waste, 

I  know  not  Whither,  willy-nilly  blowing. 

What,  without  asking,  hither  hurried  Whence? 
And,  without  asking,  Whither  hurried  hence? 

Oh,  many  a  Cup  of  this  forbidden  Wine 
Must  drown  the  memory  of  that  insolence  ! 

Up  from  Earth’s  Center,  through  the  Seventh  Gate 
I  rose,  and  on  the  Throne  of  Saturn  sate, 

And  many  a  Knot  unravelled  by  the  Road ; 

But  not  the  Master  Knot  of  Human  Fate. 


THE  SEARCH  AFTER  GOD 


61 


There  was  the  Door  to  which  I  found  no  Key; 
There  was  the  Veil  through  which  I  might  not  see; 

Some  little  talk  awhile  of  Me  and  Thee 
There  was — and  then  no  more  of  Thee  and  Me. 

Earth  could  not  answer,  nor  the  Seas  that  mourn 
In  flowing  purple,  of  their  kird  forlorn; 

Nor  rolling  Heaven,  with  all  his  signs  revealed 
And  hidden  by  the  sleeve  of  Night  and  Morn. 

Then  of  the  Thee  in  Me  who  works  behind 
The  Veil,  I  lifted  up  my  hands  to  find 

A  lamp  amid  the  darkness;  and  I  heard, 

As  from  without — ((The  Me  within  Thee  blind.” 

Then  to  the  Lip  of  this  poor  earthen  Urn 
I  leaned,  the  Secret  of  my  Life  to  learn: 

And,  Lip  to  Lip,  it  murmured — “While  you  live, 
Drink ! — for,  once  dead,  you  never  shall  return.” 

•  «••«•••• 

I  sent  my  soul  through  the  Invisible 
Some  letter  of  that  After-life  to  spell: 

And  by  and  by  my  soul  returned  to  me, 

And  answered,  “I  Myself  am  Heaven  and  Hell.” 

Heaven  but  the  Vision  of  fulfilled  Desire 
And  Hell  the  shadow  of  a  Soul  on  fire 

Cast  on  the  Darkness  into  which  Ourselves 
So  late  emerged  from,  shall  so  soon  expire. 


TO  FINDE  GOD 
Robert  Herrick 

Weigh  me  the  fire;  or  canst  thou  find 
A  way  to  measure  out  the  wind; 
Distinguish  all  those  floods  that  are 
Mixt  in  that  watrie  theater; 

And  taste  thou  them  as  saltless  there. 
As  in  their  channel  first  they  were. 


62  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


Tell  me  the  peoples  that  do  keep 
Within  the  king-domes  of  the  deep ; 

Or  fetch  me  back  that  cloud  againe, 
Beshivered  into  seeds  of  raine ; 

Tell  me  the  motes,  dust,  sand  and  speares 
Of  corn,  when  summer  shakes  his  eares ; 
Show  me  that  world  of  stars,  and  whence 
They  noiseless  spill  their  influence : 

This  if  thou  canst;  then  shew  me  Him 
That  rides  the  glorious  Cherubim! 


JOB’S  COMFORTERS 
Job  XI,  7-8 

From  Moulton’s  Modern  Readers’  Bible 

Canst  thou  by  searching  find  out  God? 

Canst  thou  find  out  the  Almighty  unto  perfection? 

It  is  as  high  as  heaven; 

What  canst  thou  do? 

Deeper  than  Sheol ; 

What  canst  thou  know? 

The  measure  thereof  is  longer  than  the  earth, 

And  broader  than  the  sea. 

If  he  pass  through,  and  shut  up, 

And  call  unto  judgment,  then  who  can  hinder  him? 


I  WENT  DOWN  INTO  THE  DESERT 
TO  MEET  ELIJAH 

Vachel  Lindsay 

I  went  down  into  the  desert 
To  meet  Elijah 
Arisen  from  the  dead. 

I  thought  to  find  him  in  an  echoing  cave, 

For  so  my  dream  had  said. 


THE  SEARCH  AFTER  GOD 


63 

I  went  down  into  the  desert 
To  meet  John  the  Baptist, 

I  walked  with  feet  that  bled, 

Seeking  that  prophet  lean  and  brown  and  bold, 

I  spied  the  foul  fiends  instead. 

I  went  down  into  the  desert 
To  meet  my  God 
By  Him  be  comforted. 

I  went  down  into  the  desert 

To  meet  my  God 

And  I  met  the  devil  in  red. 

I  went  down  into  the  desert 
To  meet  my  God 

Oh,  Lord,  my  God,  awaken  from  the  dead! 

I  see  you  there,  your  thorn  crown  on  the  ground, 

I  see  you  there  half-buried  in  the  sand; 

I  see  you  there,  your  white  bones,  glistening,  bare, 

The  carrion-birds  a-wheeling  round  your  head. 


MEDITATIONS  OF  A  HINDU  PRINCE 
Sir  Alfred  Comyns  Lyall 

All  over  the  world,  I  wonder,  in  lands  that  I  never  have  trod. 

Are  the  people  eternally  seeking  for  the  signs  and  steps  of  a 
God? 

Westward  across  the  ocean,  and  northward  ayont  the  snow, 

Do  they  all  stand  gazing,  as  ever,  and  what  do  the  wisest  know  ? 

Here  in  this  mystical  India,  the  deities  hover  and  swarm, 

Like  wild  bees  heard  in  the  tree  tops,  or  the  gusts  of  a  gath¬ 
ering  storm; 

In  the  air  men  hear  their  voices,  their  feet  on  the  rocks  are 
seen 

Yet  we  all  say,  “whence  is  the  message,  and  what  may  the 
wonders  mean?” 


64  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

A  million  shrines  stand  open,  and  ever  the  censer  swings, 

As  they  bow  to  a  mystic  symbol  or  the  figures  of  ancient  kings, 

And  the  incense  rises  ever,  and  rises  the  endless  cry 

Of  those  who  are  heavy  laden,  and  of  cowards  loath  to  die. 

For  Destiny  drives  us  together  like  deer  in  the  pass  of  the  hills; 

Above  is  the  sky,  and  around  us  the  sound  and  shot  that  kills; 

Pushed  by  a  power  we  see  not,  and  struck  by  a  hand  unknown, 

We  pray  to  the  trees  for  shelter  and  press  our  lips  to  a  stone. 

The  trees  wave  a  shadowy  answer  and  the  rocks  frown  hollow 
and  grim, 

And  the  form  and  nod  of  a  demon  are  caught  in  the  twilight 
dim; 

And  we  look  at  the  sunlight  falling  afar  on  the  mountain 
crest : — 

Is  there  never  a  path  runs  upward  to  a  refuge  there  and  a  rest? 

The  path,  ah !  who  has  shown  it,  and  who  is  the  faithful  guide  ? 

The  haven,  ah!  who  has  known  it?  for  steep  is  the  mountain 
side, 

Forever  the  shot  strikes  surely,  and  ever  the  wasted  breath 

Of  the  praying  multitude  rises,  whose  answer  only  is  death. 

Here  are  the  tombs  of  my  kinsfolk,  the  first  of  an  ancient  name, 

Chiefs  who  were  slain  on  the  war-field,  and  women  who  died  in 
flame ; 

They  are  gods,  these  kings  of  the  foretime,  they  are  spirits  who 
guard  our  race; 

Forever  I  watch  and  worship ;  they  sit  with  a  marble  face. 


And  the  myriad  idols  around  me,  and  the  legion  of  muttering 
priests, 

The  revels  and  rites  unholy,  the  dark,  unspeakable  feasts ! 

What  have  they  wrung  from  the  Silence  ?  Hath  ever  a  whisper 
come 

Of  the  secret  ?  Whence  and  whither  ?  Alas !  for  the  gods  are 
dumb. 


THE  SEARCH  AFTER  GOD  65 

Shall  I  list  to  the  word  of  the  English  who  come  from  the 
uttermost  sea? 

“The  secret !  Hath  it  been  told  you,  and  what  is  your  message 
to  me  ?” 

It  is  naught  but  the  world-wide  story,  how  the  heavens  and 
earth  began, 

How  the  gods  are  glad  and  angry,  and  the  Deity  once  was 
man. 


I  had  thought  “Perchance  in  the  cities,  where  the  rulers  of 
India  dwell, 

Whose  orders  flash  from  the  far  land,  who  girdle  the  earth 
with  a  spell, 

They  have  fathomed  the  depths  we  float  on,  they  have  meas¬ 
ur’d  the  unknown  main.” 

Sadly  they  turn  from  the  venture,  and  say  that  the  quest  is 
vain. 


Is  life,  then,  a  dream  and  delusion,  and  where  shall  the  dreamer 
awake  ? 

Is  the  world  seen  like  shadows  on  water?  And  what  if  the 
mirror  break? 

Shall  it  pass  as  a  camp  that  is  struck,  as  a  tent  that  is  gathered 
and  gone  ? 

From  the  sands  that  were  lamp-lit  at  eve,  and  at  morning  are 
level  and  lone? 

Is  there  naught  in  the  heavens  above,  whence  the  rain  and 
leaven  are  hurled 

But  the  wind  that  is  swept  around  us  by  the  rush  of  the  rolling 
world  ? 

The  wind  that  shall  scatter  my  ashes,  and  bear  me  to  silence 
and  sleep 

With  the  dirge,  and  the  sound  of  lamenting  and  voices  of 
women  who  weep  ? 


66  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


THE  SEEKERS 
John  Masefield 

Friends  and  loves  we  have  none,  nor  wealth  nor  blest  abode, 
But  the  hope  of  the  City  of  God  at  the  other  end  of  the  road. 

Not  for  us  are  content,  and  quiet,  and  peace  of  mind, 

For  we  go  seeking  a  city  that  we  shall  never  find. 

There  is  no  solace  on  earth  for  us — for  such  as  we — 

Who  search  for  a  hidden  city  that  we  shall  never  see. 

Only  the  road  and  the  dawn,  the  sun,  the  wind,  and  the  rain, 
And  the  watch  fire  under  stars,  and  sleep,  and  the  road  again. 

We  seek  the  City  of  God,  and  the  haunt  where  beauty  dwells, 
And  we  find  the  noisy  mart  and  the  sound  of  burial  bells. 

Never  the  golden  city,  where  the  radiant  people  meet, 

But  the  dolorous  town  where  mourners  are  going  about  the 
street. 

We  travel  the  dusty  road  till  the  light  of  the  day  is  dim, 

And  sunset  shows  us  spires  away  on  the  world’s  rim. 

We  travel  from  dawn  to  dusk,  till  the  day  is  past  and  by, 
Seeking  the  Holy  City  beyond  the  rim  of  the  sky. 

Friends  and  loves  we  have  none,  nor  wealth  nor  blest  abode, 
But  the  hope  of  the  City  of  God  at  the  other  end  of  the  road. 


THE  MYSTIC 

Cale  Young  Rice 

There  is  a  quest  that  calls  me 
In  nights  when  I  am  lone, 

The  need  to  ride  where  the  ways  divide 


THE  SEARCH  AFTER  GOD 


67 


The  unknown  from  the  known. 

I  mount  what  thought  is  near  me 
And  soon  I  reach  the  place, 

The  tenuous  rim  where  the  Seen  grows  dim 
And  the  Sightless  hides  its  face. 

I  have  ridden  the  wind, 

I  have  ridden  the  sea, 

I  have  ridden  the  moon  and  stars, 

I  have  set  my  feet  in  the  stirrup  seat 
Of  a  comet  coursing  Mars. 

And  everywhere, 

Thro’  earth  and  air 

My  thought  speeds,  lightning-shod, 

It  comes  to  a  place  where  checking  pace 
It  cries,  “ Beyond  lies  God.” 

It  calls  me  out  of  the  darkness, 

It  calls  me  out  of  sleep, 

“Ride,  ride !  for  you  must,  to  the  end  of  Dust  !” 

It  bids — and  on  I  sweep 
To  the  wide  outposts  of  Being 
Where  there  is  Gulf  alone — 

And  thro’  a  vast  that  was  never  passed 
I  listen  for  Life’s  tone. 

I  have  ridden  the  zvind 
I  have  ridden  the  night, 

I  have  ridden  the  ghosts  that  flee 

From  the  vaults  of  death  like  a  chilling  breath 

Over  eternity . 

And  everywhere 

Is  the  world  laid  bare — 

Ether  and  star  and  clod — 

Until  I  wind  to  its  brink  and  find 
But  the  cry,  “ Beyond  lies  God!” 

It  calls  me  and  ever  calls  me ! 

And  vainly  I  reply, 

“Fools  only  ride  where  the  ways  divide 
What  Is  from  the  Whence  and  Why !” 


I 


68  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

I’m  lifted  into  the  saddle 

Of  thoughts  too  strong  to  tame 
And  down  the  deeps  and  over  the  steeps 
I  find — ever  the  same. 

I  have  ridden  the  wind, 

I  have  ridden  the  stars 
I  have  ridden  the  force  that  flies 
With  far  intent  through  the  firmament 
And  each  to  each  allies. 

And  everywhere 

That  a  thought  may  dare 

To  gallop,  mine  has  trod — 

Only  to  stand  at  last  on  the  strand 
Where  just  beyond  lies  God. 

THE  SEEKERS 
Victor  Starbuck 

One  asked  a  sign  fyom  God;  and  day  by  day 
The  sun  arose  in  pearl,  in  scarlet  set, 

Each  night  the  stars  appeared  in  bright  array, 

Each  morn  the  thirsting  grass  with  dew  was  wet. 
The  corn  failed  not  its  harvest,  nor  the  vine. 

And  yet  he  saw  no  sign. 

One  longed  to  hear  a  prophet;  and  he  strayed 
Through  crowded  streets,  and  by  the  open  sea. 

He  saw  men  send  their  ships  for  distant  trade, 

And  build  for  generations  yet  to  be. 

He  saw  the  farmer  sow  his  acres  wide, 

But  went  unsatisfied. 

One  prayed  a  sight  of  heaven;  and  erewhile 
He  saw  a  workman  at  his  noontime  rest. 

He  saw  one  dare  for  honor,  and  the  smile 
Of  one  who  held  a  babe  upon  her  breast ; 

At  dusk  two  lovers  walking  hand  in  hand; 

But  did  not  understand. 


THE  SEARCH  AFTER  GOD 


69 


THE  CATTLE  OF  HIS  HAND 
Wilbur  Underwood 

All  night  long,  through  the  starlit  air  and  the  stillness, 
Through  the  wanness  of  dawn  and  the  burning  of  noontide, 
Onward  we  strain  with  a  mighty  resounding  of  hoof-beats. 

Heaven  and  earth  are  ashake  with  the  terrible  trampling; 
Wild  straying  of  feet  of  a  vast  and  hastening  army; 

Wistful  eyes  that  helplessly  seek  one  another. 

Hushed  is  the  dark  to  hear  the  plaint  of  our  lowing, 

Mournful  cry  of  the  dumb-tired  hearts  within  us, 

Faint  to  death  with  thirst  and  the  gnawing  of  hunger. 

Day  by  day  through  the  dust  and  the  heat  have  we  thirsted  ; 
Day  by  day  through  stony  ways  have  we  hungered ; 

Naught  but  a  few  bitter  herbs  that  grew  by  the  wayside. 

What  we  flee  that  is  far  behind  in  the  darkness, 

Where  the  place  of  abiding  for  us,  we  know  not; 

Only  we  hark  for  the  voice  of  the  Master  Herdsman. 

Many  a  weary  day  must  pass  ere  we  hear  it, 

Blown  on  the  winds,  now  close,  now  far  in  the  distance, 

Deep  as  the  void  above  us  and  sweet  as  the  dawn-star. 

He  it  is  who  drives  us  and  urges  us  always, 

Faint  with  a  need  that  is  ever  present  within  us, 

Struggling  onward  and  toiling  one  by  the  other. 

Ever  we  long  and  cry  for  rest,  but  it  comes  not; 

Broke  are  our  feet  and  sore  and  bruised  by  the  climbing; 

Sharp  is  his  goad  in  our  quivering  flanks  when  we  falter. 

And  some  fall  down  with  a  plaintive  moaning  and  perish ; 

But  upward  we  strain  nor  stop,  for  the  Voice  comes  to  us, 
Driving  us  on  once  more  to  the  press  and  the  struggle. 


70  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

Then  when  we  know  His  Presence  the  hard  way  lightens ; 
Turn  we  our  piteous  eyes  to  the  far-stretching  highway; 
Struggle  ahead  in  the  dark  as  trusting  as  children. 

What  we  flee  that  is  far  behind  in  the  darkness, 

Where  the  place  of  abiding  for  us,  we  know  not; 

Only  we  hark  for  the  Voice — till  hope  fades  from  us. 

Heaven  and  earth  are  ashake  with  the  terrible  trampling, 
Wild  straying  feet  of  a  vast  and  hastening  army, 

Wistful  hearts  that  helplessly  seek  one  another. 

All  night  long  through  the  star-lit  air  and  the  stillness, 
Through  the  cool  wanness  of  dawn  and  the  burning  of  noontide, 
Onward  we  strain  with  mighty  resounding  of  hoof-beats. 


C.  THE  SEARCH  IS  ITS  OWN  REWARD 

A  GRAMMARIAN’S  FUNERAL 

SHORTLY  AFTER  THE  REVIVAL  OF  LEARNING  IN  EUROPE 

Robert  Browning 

Let  us  begin  and  carry  up  this  corpse, 

Singing  together. 

Leave  we  the  common  crofts,  the  vulgar  thorpes, 
Each  in  its  tether 

Sleeping  safe  on  the  bosom  of  the  plain, 

Cared-for  till  cock-crow: 

Look  out  if  yonder  be  not  day  again 
Rimming  the  rock-row ! 

That’s  the  appropriate  country;  there,  man’s  thought, 
Rarer,  intenser, 

Self-gathered  for  an  outbreak,  as  it  ought. 

Chafes  in  the  censer. 

•  ••••••*• 

Till  lo,  the  little  touch,  and  youth  was  gone ! 

Cramped  and  diminished, 


THE  SEARCH  AFTER  GOD 


7 1 


Moaned  he,  “New  measures,  other  feet  anon! 

My  dance  is  finished”? 

No,  that’s  the  world’s  way:  (keep  the  mountainside, 
Make  for  the  city ! ) 

He  knew  the  signal,  and  stepped  on  with  pride 
Over  men’s  pity; 

Left  play  for  work,  and  grappled  with  the  world 
Bent  on  escaping : 

“What’s  in  the  scroll,”  quoth  he,  “thou  keepest  furled? 
Show  me  their  shaping, 

Theirs  who  most  studied  man,  the  bard  and  sage, — 
Give!” — So,  he  gowned  him, 

Straight  got  by  heart  that  book  to  its  last  page : 
Learned,  we  found  him. 

Yea,  but  we  found  him  bald  too,  eyes  like  lead, 

Accents  uncertain : 

“Time  to  taste  life,”  another  would  have  said, 

“Up  with  the  curtain!” 

This  man  said  rather,  “Actual  life  comes  next? 
Patience  a  moment ! 

Grant  I  have  mastered  learning’s  crabbed  text, 

Still  there’s  the  comment. 

Let  me  know  all !  Prate  not  of  most  or  least, 

Painful  or  easy ! 

Even  to  the  crumbs  I’d  fain  eat  up  the  feast, 

Ay,  nor  feel  queasy.” 

Oh,  such  a  life  as  he  resolved  to  live, 

When  he  had  learned  it, 

When  he  had  gathered  all  books  had  to  give ! 

Sooner,  he  spurned  it. 

Image  the  whole,  then  execute  the  parts — 

Fancy  the  fabric 

Quite,  ere  you  build,  ere  steel  strike  fire  from  quartz, 
Ere  mortar  dab  brick ! 


(Here’s  the  town-gate  reached;  there’s  the  market-place 
Gaping  before  us.) 

Yea,  this  in  him  was  the  peculiar  grace 
(Hearten  our  chorus!) 


72  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


That  before  living  he’d  learn  how  to  live — 

No  end  to  learning: 

Earn  the  means  first — God  surely  will  contrive 
Use  for  our  earning. 

Others  mistrust  and  say,  “But  time  escapes ! 

Live  now  or  never!” 

He  said,  “What’s  time?  Leave  Now  for  dogs  and  apes! 
Man  has  Forever.” 

Back  to  his  book  then :  deeper  drooped  his  head : 
Calculus  racked  him : 

Leaden  before,  his  eyes  grew  dross  of  lead : 

Tussis  attacked  him. 

“Now,  master,  take  a  little  rest!” — not  he! 

(Caution  redoubled, 

Step  two  abreast,  the  way  winds  narrowly!) 

Not  a  whit  troubled, 

Back  to  his  studies,  fresher  than  at  first, 

Fierce  as  a  dragon 

He  (soul-hydroptic  with  a  sacred  thirst) 

Sucked  at  the  flagon. 

Oh,  if  we  draw  a  circle  premature, 

Heedless  of  far  gain, 

Greedy  for  quick  returns  of  profit,  sure 
Bad  is  our  bargain ! 

Was  it  not  great?  did  not  he  throw  on  God, 

(He  loves  the  burthen)  — 

God’s  task  to  make  the  heavenly  period 
Perfect  the  earthen  ? 

Did  not  he  magnify  the  mind,  show  clear 
Just  what  it  all  meant? 

He  would  not  discount  life,  as  fools  do  here, 

Paid  by  instalment. 

He  ventured  neck  or  nothing — heaven’s  success 
Found,  or  earth’s  failure : 

“Wilt  thou  trust  death  or  not?”  He  answered  “Yes! 

Hence  with  life’s  pale  lure!” 

That  low  man  seeks  a  little  thing  to  do, 

Sees  it  and  does  it : 

This  high  man,  with  a  great  thing  to  pursue, 

Dies  ere  he  knows  it. 


THE  SEARCH  AFTER  GOD 


73 


That  low  man  goes  on  adding  one  to  one, 

His  hundred’s  soon  hit : 

This  high  man,  aiming  at  a  million, 

Misses  an  unit. 

That,  has  the  world  here — should  he  need  the  next, 

Let  the  world  mind  him ! 

This,  throws  himself  on  God,  and  unperplexed 
Seeking  shall  find  Him. 

So,  with  the  throttling  hands  of  death  at  strife, 

Ground  he  at  grammar; 

Still,  thro’  the  rattle,  parts  of  speech  were  rife : 

While  he  could  stammer 

He  settled  Hoti’s  business — let  it  be ! — 

Properly  based  Oun — 

Gave  us  the  doctrine  of  the  enclitic  De, 

Dead  from  the  waist  down. 

Well,  here’s  the  platform,  here’s  the  proper  place: 

Hail  to  your  purlieus, 

All  ye  highfliers  of  the  feathered  race, 

Swallows  and  curlews : 

Here’s  the  top-peak;  the  multitude  below 
Live,  for  they  can,  there : 

This  man  decided  not  to  Live  but  Know — 

Bury  this  man  there  ? 

Here — here’s  his  place,  where  meteors  shoot,  clouds  form, 
Lightnings  are  loosened, 

Stars  come  and  go!  Let  joy  break  with  the  storm, 

Peace  let  the  dew  send ! 

Lofty  designs  must  close  in  like  effects : 

Loftily  lying, 

Leave  him — still  loftier  than  the  world  suspects, 

Living  and  dying. 


THE  HIGHER  CATECHISM 
Sam  Walter  Foss 

Let  us  ask  ourselves  some  questions ;  for  that  man  is  truly  wise 
Who  can  make  a  catechism  that  will  really  catechise. 

All  can  make  a  catechism, — none  can  keep  it  in  repair. 


74  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

Where’s  the  workman  can  construct  one  that  he’ll  guarantee 
will  wear? 

We  are  confronted  from  our  birthday  onward  to  the  day  we  die 

With  a  maximum  of  questions  and  a  minimum  reply. 

So  we  make  our  catechism;  but  our  work  is  never  done — 

For  a  father’s  catechism  never  fits  a  father’s  son. 

What  are  we  here  for  ?  That’s  the  first  one ;  that’s  the  first 
we  want  to  know. 

We  are  here  and  all  born  little,  just  because  we’re  here  to 
grow. 

What  is  sin?  Why  sin’s  not  growing;  all  that  stops  the  growth 
within, 

Plagues  the  eternal  upward  impulse,  stunts  the  spirit — that  is 
sin. 

Who  are  sinners?  All  are  sinners;  but  this  is  no  hopeless 
plaint, 

For  there  never  was  a  sinner  who  was  not  likewise  a  saint. 

What’s  the  devil  ?  A  convenient  but  imagined  elf 

Each  man  builds  to  throw  his  sins  on  when  he  won’t  “own  up” 
himself. 

And  where  is  hell?  And  where  is  heaven?  In  some  vague 
distance  dim? 

No,  they  are  here  and  now  in  you — in  me,  in  her,  in  him. 

When  is  the  Judgment  Day  to  dawn?  Its  true  date  who  can 
say  ? 

Look  in  your  calendar  and  see  what  day  it  is  today ! 

Today  is  always  Judgment  Day;  and  Conscience  throned  within 

Brings  up  before  its  judgment  seat  each  soul  to  face  his  sin. 

We  march  to  judgment,  each  along  an  uncompanioned  way — 

Stand  up,  man,  and  accuse  yourself  and  meet  your  Judgment 
Day. 

Where  shall  we  get  religion?  Beneath  the  open  sky, 

The  sphere  of  crystal  silence  surcharged  with  deity. 

The  winds  blow  from  a  thousand  ways  and  waft  their  balms 
abroad, 

The  winds  blow  toward  a  million  goals — but  all  winds  blow 
from  God. 


THE  SEARCH  AFTER  GOD 


75 

The  stars  the  old  Chaldeans  saw  still  weave  their  maze  on 
high 

And  write  a  thousand  thousand  years  their  bible  in  the  skv. 
The  midnight  earth  sends  incense  up  sweet  with  the  breath  of 
prayer — 

Go  out  beneath  the  naked  night  and  get  religion  there. 

Where  shall  we  get  religion  ?  Beneath  the  blooming  tree, 

Beside  the  hill-encircling  brooks  that  loiter  to  the  sea, 

Beside  all  twilight  waters,  beneath  the  noonday  shades, 
Beneath  the  dark  cathedral  pines  and  through  the  tangled 
glades ; 

Wherever  the  old  urge  of  life  provokes  the  dumb  dead  sod 
To  tell  its  thought  in  violets,  the  soul  takes  hold  on  God. 

Go  smell  the  growing  clover,  and  scent  the  blooming  pear, 

Go  forth  to  seek  religion — and  find  it  anywhere. 

What  is  the  church?  The  church  is  man  when  his  awed  soul 
goes  out, 

In  reverence  to  a  mystery  that  swathes  him  all  about. 

When  any  living  man  in  awe  gropes  godward  in  his  search ; 
Then  in  that  hour,  that  living  man  becomes  the  living  church, 
Then,  though  in  wilderness  or  in  waste,  his  soul  is  swept  along 
Down  naves  of  prayer,  through  aisles  of  praise,  up  altar-stairs 
of  song. 

And  where  man  fronts  the  Mystery  with  spirit  bowed  in  prayer, 
There  is  the  universal  church — the  church  of  God  is  there. 

Where  are  the  prophets  of  the  soul?  Where  dwells  the  sacred 
clan  ? 

Ah,  they  live  in  fields  and  cities,  yea,  wrherever  dwells  a  man, 
Whether  he  prays  in  cloistered  cell  or  delves  the  hillside 
clod, 

Wherever  beats  the  heart  of  man,  there  dwells  a  priest  of 
God. 

Who  are  the  apostolic  line?  The  men  who  hear  a  voice 
Well  from  the  soul  within  the  soul  that  cries  aloud,  “Rejoice!” 
Who  listen  to  themselves  and  hear  this  world-old  voice  divine — 
These  are  the  lineage  of  seers,  the  apostolic  line. 


76  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

And  what  is  faith?  The  anchored  trust  that  at  the  core  of 
things 

Health,  goodness,  animating  strength  flow  from  exhaustless 
springs ; 

That  no  star  rolls  unguided  down  the  rings  of  endless  maze, 

That  no  feet  tread  an  aimless  path  through  wastes  of  empty 
days ; 

That  trusts  the  everlasting  voice,  the  glad,  calm  voice  that 
saith 

That  Order  grows  from  Chaos,  and  that  life  is  born  from 
death ; 

That  from  the  wreck  of  rendering  stars  behind  the  storm  and 
scathe, 

There  dwells  a  heart  of  central  calm; — and  this,  and  this  is 
faith. 

What  is  the  world’s  true  Bible — ’tis  the  highest  thought  of  man, 

The  thought  distilled  through  ages  since  the  dawn  of  thought 
began. 

And  each  age  adds  a  word  thereto,  some  psalm  or  promise 
sweet — 

And  the  canon  is  unfinished  and  forever  incomplete. 

O’er  the  chapters  that  are  written  long  and  lovingly  we  pore — 

But  the  best  is  yet  unwritten,  for  we  grow  from  more  to  more. 

Let  us  heed  the  voice  within  us  and  its  messages  rehearse ; 

Let  us  build  the  growing  Bible — for  we  too  must  write  a  verse. 

What  is  the  purport  of  the  scheme  toward  which  all  time  is 
gone  ? 

What  is  the  great  seonian  goal?  The  joy  of  going  on. 

And  are  there  any  souls  so  strong,  such  feet  with  swiftness 
shod, 

That  they  shall  reach  it,  reach  some  bourne,  the  ultimate  of 
God? 

There  is  no  bourne,  no  ultimate.  The  very  farthest  star 

But  rims  a  sea  of  other  stars  that  stretches  just  as  far. 

There’s  no  beginning  and  no  end.  As  in  the  ages  gone, 

The  greatest  joy  of  joys  shall  be  the  joy  of  going  on. 


THE  SEARCH  AFTER  GOD 


77 


THE  MYSTERY 
Ralph  Hodgson 

He  came  and  took  me  by  the  hand 
Up  to  a  red  rose  tree, 

He  kept  His  meaning  to  Himself, 

But  gave  a  rose  to  me. 

I  did  not  pray  Him  to  lay  bare 
The  mystery  to  me ; 

Enough  the  rose  was  heaven  to  smell, 
And  His  own  face  to  see. 


GRADATIM 

Josiah  Gilbert  Holland 

Heaven  is  not  reached  by  a  single  bound; 

But  we  build  the  ladder  by  which  we  rise 
From  the  lowly  earth  to  the  vaulted  skies, 

And  we  mount  to  its  summit  round  by  round. 

I  count  this  thing  to  be  grandly  true : 

That  a  noble  deed  is  a  step  toward  God, 
Lifting  the  soul  from  the  common  clod 
To  a  purer  air  and  a  broader  view. 

We  rise  by  the  things  that  are  under  feet; 

By  what  we  have  mastered  of  good  and  gain; 
By  the  pride  deposed  and  the  passion  slain, 
And  the  vanquished  ills  that  we  hourly  meet. 

We  hope,  we  aspire,  we  resolve,  we  trust, 

When  the  morning  calls  us  to  life  and  light, 
But  our  hearts  grow  weary,  and,  ere  the  night, 
Our  lives  are  trailing  the  sordid  dust. 

We  hope,  we  resolve,  we  aspire,  we  pray, 

And  we  think  that  we  mount  the  air  on  wings 


78  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

Beyond  the  recall  of  sensual  things, 

While  our  feet  still  cling  to  the  heavy  clay. 

Wings  for  angels  but  feet  for  men ! 

We  may  borrow  the  wings  to  find  the  way — 

We  may  hope  and  resolve,  and  aspire,  and  pray; 
But  our  feet  must  rise  or  we  fall  again. 

Only  in  dreams  is  a  ladder  thrown 

From  the  weary  earth  to  the  sapphire  walls; 

But  the  dreams  depart,  and  the  vision  falls, 

And  the  sleeper  wakes  on  his  pillow  of  stone 

Heaven  is  not  reached  by  a  single  bound; 

But  we  build  the  ladder  by  which  we  rise 
From  the  lowly  earth  to  the  vaulted  skies, 

And  we  mount  to  its  summit,  round  by  round. 


VIA,  VERITAS,  ET  VITA 
Alice  Meynell 

“You  never  attained  to  Him/’  “If  to  attain 
Be  to  abide,  then  that  may  be.” 

“Endless  the  way,  followed  with  how  much  pain.” 
“The  way  was  He.” 


BEFORE  DAY 
Siegfried  Sassoon 

Come  in  this  hour  to  set  my  spirit  free 
When  earth  is  no  more  mine  though  night  goes  out 
And  stretching  forth  these  arms  I  cannot  be 
Lord  of  winged  sunrise  and  dim  Arcady : 

When  fieldward  boys  far  off  with  clack  and  shout 
From  orchards  scare  the  birds  in  sudden  rout, 

Come,  ere  my  heart  grows  cold  and  full  of  doubt 
In  the  still  summer  dawns  that  waken  me. 


THE  SEARCH  AFTER  GOD 


79 


When  the  first  lark  goes  up  to  look  for  day, 
And  morning  glimmers  out  of  dreams,  come  then, 
Out  of  the  songless  valleys,  over  gray 
Wide  misty  lands  to  bring  me  on  my  way: 

For  I  am  lone,  a  dweller  among  men, 

Hungered  for  what  my  heart  shall  never  say. 


THE  SEEKERS 

Charles  Hamilton  Sorley 

The  gates  are  open  on  the  road 
That  leads  to  beauty  and  to  God. 

Perhaps  the  gates  are  not  so  fair, 

Nor  quite  so  bright  as  once  they  were, 
When  God  Himself  on  earth  did  stand 
And  gave  to  Abraham  His  hand 
And  led  him  to  a  better  land. 

For  lo !  the  unclean  walk  therein, 

And  those  that  have  been  soiled  with  sin. 
The  publican  and  harlot  pass 
Along :  they  do  not  stain  its  grass. 

In  it  the  needy  has  his  share, 

In  it  the  foolish  do  not  err. 

Yes,  spurned  and  fool  and  sinner  stray 
Along  the  highway  and  the  way. 

And  what  if  all  its  ways  are  trod 
By  those  whom  sin  brings  near  to  God? 

This  journey  soon  will  make  them  clean: 
Their  faith  is  greater  than  their  sin. 

9 

For  still  they  travel  slowly  by 
Beneath  the  promise  of  the  sky, 

Scorned  and  rejected  utterly; 

Unhonoured;  things  of  little  worth 
Upon  the  highroads  of  this  earth; 


8o  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


Afflicted,  destitute  and  weak : 

Nor  find  the  beauty  that  they  seek, 
The  God  they  set  their  trust  upon: 
— Yet  still  they  march  rejoicing  on. 


From  MARLBOROUGH 

Charles  Hamilton  Sorley 

So,  there,  when  sunset  made  the  downs  look  new 
And  earth  gave  up  her  colours  to  the  sky, 

And  far  away  the  little  city  grew 

Half  into  sight,  new-visioned  was  my  eye. 

I,  who  have  lived,  and  trod  her  lovely  earth, 
Raced  with  her  winds  and  listened  to  her  birds, 
Have  cared  but  little  for  their  worldy  worth 
Nor  sought  to  put  my  passion  into  words. 

But  now  it’s  different;  and  I  have  no  rest 
Because  my  hand  must  search,  dissect  and  spell 
The  beauty  that  is  better  not  expressed, 

The  thing  that  all  can  feel,  but  none  can  tell. 


EPIGRAM 
William  Watson 

When  whelmed  are  altar,  priest  and  creed; 

When  all  the  faiths  are  passed; 

Perhaps  from  darkening  incense  freed, 

God  may  emerge  at  last. 


III.  The  Existence  and  Idea  of  God 

a.  PRE-CHRISTIAN 

b.  EARLY  CHRISTIAN  AND  MEDI/EVAL 

C.  SIXTEENTH  AND  SEVENTEENTPI  CENTURIES 

d.  EIGHTEENTH  CENTURY 

e.  NINETEENTH  CENTURY 

f.  TWENTIETH  CENTURY 


III.  The  Existence  and  Idea  of  God 


a.  PRE-CHRISTIAN 

BRAHMA,  THE  WORLD  IDEA 

Rig-Veda,  X,  129  (East  Indian),  1500  B.  G, 

Not-Being  was  not,  Being  was  not  then, 

Air  was  not,  nor  sky  beyond. 

What  was  the  covering — where,  in  whose  ward? 

Was  there  water,  deep,  profound? 

Death  was  not,  nor  deathlessness  then, 

No  token  was  there  of  night  or  day. 

The  One  breathed  windless,  of  its  own  power; 

Beyond  this  there  was  naught  whatsoever. 

Darkness  there  was,  hidden  in  darkness,  at  first; 

This  universe  was  a  tokenless  flood. 

When  the  living  was  covered  by  the  void, 

By  the  power  of  Heat  was  born  the  One. 

Desire  in  the  beginning  came  upon  it, 

Which  was  the  first  seed  of  Thought. 

The  root  of  Being  in  Not-Being  was  found 

By  sages  tracing  it  with  understanding  in  their  hearts. 

Was  their  line  stretched  out  across, 

Or  was  it  below,  or  was  it  above? 

Sowers  of  seed  there  were,  Powers  there  were, 

Potency  beneath,  Energy  beyond. 

Who  knows  in  sooth,  who  may  declare  here, 

Whence  this  creation  was  born,  whence  it  was? 

83 


84  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

The  gods  were  later  in  the  creating  thereof ; 

So  who  knows  whence  it  arose  ? 

Whence  this  creation  arose, 

Whether  He  made  it  or  not, 

He  who  watches  over  it  in  the  highest  heaven 
Knows  indeed — or  haply  knows  not. 


PROOFS  OF  BUDDHA’S  EXISTENCE 

Anonymous,  Fourth  Century  B.  C. 

As  men  who  see  a  city  fitly  planned 
Infer  the  greatness  of  its  architect, 

So  when  the  ‘City  of  Good  Law’  is  scanned 
Work  of  the  Blessed  One  can  those  who  will  detect. 

As  men  who  see  the  ocean  rollers  break 
Infer  the  greatness  of  th’  encompassing  sea, 

So  may  they  judge  of  him  whose  teachings  take 
Throughout  the  listening  world  their  course  of  victory^ 

Of  him,  the  Victor  who  allays  all  grief 
Who  purged  his  heart  of  Tanha,  seed  of  woe, 

Well  may  the  men  to  whom  he  brings  relief 

Cry,  ‘Great  our  Master,  far  his  goodly  precepts  flow !’ 

As  men  who  see  far-off  Himalaya’s  snows 
Can  judge  the  mountain-barrier’s  soaring  height: 

So  they  on  whom  the  Teacher  peace  bestows 

Behold  the  ‘Mount  of  Dharma’  gleaming  clear  and  white. 

Steadfast,  unshaken,  towering  on  high, 

Unmoved  by  all  the  passion-blasts  of  lust, 

In  air  serene,  where  ill  and  Karma  die, 

Infer  ‘How  great  the  Hero  in  whose  word  we  trust!’ 

As  those  who  find  some  track  of  elephant 
Infer  the  vastness  of  his  kingly  form, 

So  when  they  see  the  work  of  Bhagavant, 

‘How  mighty,’  cry  they,  ‘was  the  Teacher  of  the  Norm!’ 


THE  EXISTENCE  AND  IDEA  OF  GOD 


85 


As  men  behold  the  jungle-folk  afraid 

And  know  ‘The  King  of  beasts  is  surely  near/ 

So  when  false  teachers  fly,  and  are  dismayed, 

We  judge  ‘  ’Tis  wisdom  of  the  royal  Sage  they  fear !’ 

And  when  the  earth  rejoices  fresh  and  green, 

‘The  gracious  rain,’  we  say,  ‘hath  come  at  last/ 

So  judge  we,  when  the  hearts  of  weary  men 
Rejoice,  ‘His  gracious  words  into  their  lives  have  passed/ 

Seeing  the  wide  fields  turned  into  a  flood, 

‘Some  mighty  stream  hath  poured  its  waters  here/ 

Men  cry:  so  judge  they  of  the  Law  how  good 
It  is,  because  they  see  men  here  and  everywhere. 

In  the  wide  ocean  of  its  waters  pure, 

Cleansed  from  the  mud  of  sin  and  suffering. 

As  men  who  scent  the  fragrant  air  are  sure 
That  the  great  forest  trees  hard-by  are  blossoming; 

So,  finding  righteous  actions  wafting  round 
All  sweet  fragrance  of  their  loveliness, 

Men  gladly  sniff  the  air,  and  cries  resound, 

‘Here  surely  lived  a  Buddha,  Lord  of  Righteousness!’ 

For  Egyptian  and  Babylonian  and  Greek  see  Section  Villa. 
See  also  Sections  II,  III ,  V,  VI,  VIII,  IX,  XI,  XII  for  Psalms. 


b.  EARLY  CHRISTIAN  AND  MEDIAEVAL 

THE  END  OF  BEING 

Seneca,  Fourth  Century  B.  C. 

Translated  by  H.  C.  Leonard. 

The  end  of  being  is  to  find  out  God ! 

And  what  is  God?  A  vast  almighty  Power 
Great  and  unlimited,  whose  potent  will 
Brings  to  achievement  whatsoe’er  He  please. 


86  THE  WORLD'S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


He  is  all  mind.  His  being  infinite — 

All  that  we  see  and  all  that  we  do  not  see. 

The  Lord  of  heaven  and  earth,  the  God  of  Gods. 
Without  Him  nothing  is.  Yet  what  He  is 
We  know  not!  When  we  strive  to  comprehend 
Our  feeble  guesses  leave  the  most  concealed. 

To  Him  we  owe  all  good  we  call  our  own. 

To  Him  we  live,  to  Him  ourselves  approve. 

He  is  a  friend  forever  at  our  side. 

What  cares  He  for  the  bleeding  sacrifice? 

O  purge  your  hearts  and  lead  the  life  of  good! 
Not  in  the  pride  of  temples  made  with  stone 
His  pleasure  lies,  but  in  the  piety 
Of  consecrated  hearts  and.  lives  devout. 


THE  LOVE  OF  GOD 

Bernard  Rascas 

From  the  Provencal 

Translated  by  William  Cullen  Bryant 

All  things  that  are  on  earth  shall  wholly  pass  away, 

Except  the  love  of  God,  which  shall  live  and  last  for  aye. 

The  forms  of  men  shall  be  as  they  had  never  been ; 

The  blasted  groves  shall  lose  their  fresh  and  tender  green; 

The  birds  of  the  thicket  shall  end  their  pleasant  song, 

And  the  nightingale  shall  cease  to  chant  the  evening  long. 

The  kine  of  the  pasture  shall  feel  the  dart  that  kills, 

And  all  the  fair  white  flocks  shall  perish  from  the  hills. 

The  goat  and  antlered  stag,  the  wolf  and  the  fox, 

The  wild  boar  of  the  wood,  and  the  chamois  of  the  rocks, 

And  the  strong  and  fearless  bear,  in  the  trodden  dust  shall  lie ; 
And  the  dolphin  of  the  sea,  and  the  mighty  whale,  shall  die. 

And  realms  shall  be  dissolved,  and  empires  be  no  more, 

And  they  shall  bow  to  death,  who  ruled  from  shore  to  shore; 
And  the  great  globe  itself,  so  the  Holy  Writings  tell, 


THE  EXISTENCE  AND  IDEA  OF  GOD 


87 


With  the  rolling  firmament,  where  the  starry  armies  dwell, 

Shall  melt  with  fervent  heat, — they  shall  all  pass  away, 
Except  the  love  of  God,  which  shall  live  and  last  for  aye ! 

Note:  Bernard  Rascas  was  a  Limousin  poet  who  died  in  1353. 
He  is  said  to  have  been  kinsman  of  the  popes  Clement  VI  and 
Innocent  VI.  He  endowed  the  Hospital  of  St.  Bernard,  at  Avignon, 


THE  UNITY  OF  GOD 

Panatattu,  E.  Indian,  10th  Century  A.  D. 

Into  the  bosom  of  the  one  great  sea 

Flow  streams  that  come  from  hills  on  every  side. 

Their  names  are  various  as  their  springs. 

And  thus  in  every  land  do  men  bow  down 
To  one  great  God,  though  known  by  many  names. 

This  mighty  Being  we  would  worship  now. 

What  though  the  six  religions  loudly  shout 
That  each  alone  is  true,  all  else  are  false  ? 

Yet  when  in  each  the  wise  man  worships  God, 

The  great  almighty  One  receives  the  prayer. 

Oh  Lord,  when  may  I  hope 
To  find  the  clue  that  leads 
From  out  the  labyrinth 
Of  brawling  erring  sects? 

Six  blind  men  once  described  an  elephant 
That  stood  before  them  all.  One  felt  the  back. 

The  second  noticed  pendent  ears.  The  third 
Could  only  find  the  tail.  The  beauteous  tusks 
Absorbed  the  admiration  of  the  fourth. 

While  of  the  other  two,  one  grasped  the  trunk. 

The  last  sought  for  small  things  and  found 

Four  thick  and  clumsy  feet.  From  what  each  learned, 

He  drew  the  beast.  Six  monsters  stood  revealed. 


88  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


Just  so  the  six  religions  learned  of  God, 

And  tell  their  wondrous  tales.  Our  God  is  one. 

Men  talk  of  penance,  fastings,  sacred  streams — 
Make  pilgrimage  to  temples,  offer  gifts; 
Performing  to  the  letter  all  the  rules 
Of  senseless  complicated  ritual. 

Yet  are  they  doomed  to  sorrow’s  deepest  pain. 

Oh,  fling  such  things  away  and  fix  thy  heart 
On  rest  and  peace  to  come.  Seek  that  alone. 

To  them  that  fully  know  the  heavenly  truth, 

There  is  no  good  or  ill;  nor  anything 
To  be  desired,  unclean  or  purely  clean. 

To  them  there  is  no  good  can  come  from  fast 
Or  penance  pains.  To  them  the  earth  has  naught 
For  hope  or  fear,  in  thought  or  word  or  deed. 

They  hear  the  four  great  Vedas  shout  aloud 
That  he  who  has  true  wisdom  in  his  heart 
Can  have  no  thought  for  fleeting  worldly  things. 
Where  God  is  seen,  there  can  be  naught  but  God. 
His  heart  can  have  no  place  for  fear  or  shame, 
For  caste,  uncleanness,  hate  or  wandering  thought. 
Impure  and  pure  are  all  alike  to  him. 


TRUE  KNOWLEDGE 

Panatattu,  E.  Indian,  ioth  Century  A.  D. 

My  God  is  not  a  chiselled  stone, 

Or  lime-block,  so  clear  and  bright: 

Nor  is  he  cleaned  with  tamarind. 

Like  images  of  bronze. 

I  cannot  worship  such  as  these, 

But  loudly  make  my  boast 
That  in  my  heart  I  place  the  feet, 

The  golden  feet  of  God. 


THE  EXISTENCE  AND  IDEA  OF  GOD 


89 


If  He  be  mine  what  can  I  need? 

My  God  is  everywhere  ! 

Within,  beyond  man's  highest  word, 

My  God  existeth  still. 

In  sacred  books,  in  darkest  night, 

In  deepest,  bluest  sky, 

In  those  who  know  the  truth,  and  in 
The  faithful  few  on  earth ; — 

My  God  is  found  in  all  of  these, 

But  can  the  Deity 
Descend  to  images  of  stone 
Or  copper  dark  or  red? 

Whene'er  wind  blows  or  compass  points, 
God’s  light  doth  stream  and  shine, 

Yet  see  yon  fool — beneath  his  arm 
He  bears  the  sacred  roil. 

How  carefully  he  folds  the  page 
And  draws  the  closing  string ! 

See  how  he  binds  the  living  book 
That  not  a  leaf  escape ! 

Ah !  Yes ;  the  truth  should  fill  his  heart, 
But  'tis  beneath  his  arm. 

To  him  who  “knows,"  the  sun  is  high; 
To  this,  'tis  starless  night. 

If  still,  oh  sinful  man,  with  ash 
Thou  dost  besmear  thy  face, 

Or  bathest  oft,  that  thus  thy  soul 
May  cast  awray  its  load, 

Thou  knowest  naught  of  God,  nor  of 
Regeneration's  work. 

Your  mantras,  what  are  they?  The  Veds 
Are  burdened  with  their  weight. 


90  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

If  knowledge  be  not  thine,  thou  art 
As  one  in  deep  mid-stream, 

A  stream  so  wide  that  both  the  banks 
Are  hidden  from  thine  eyes. 

Alas  !  How  long  did  I  adore 
The  chiselled  stone,  and  serve 
An  image  made  of  lime  or  brass 
That’s  cleaned  with  tamarind. 


See  also  the  Hymns  in  Section  VIII. 


C.  SIXTEENTH  AND  SEVENTEENTH  CENTURIES 


THE  IMAGE  OF  GOD 

Francesco  de  Aldana  (From  the  Spanish) 
Translated  by  Henry  W.  Longfellow 

O  Lord!  who  seest  from  yon  starry  height, 
Centred  in  one  the  future  and  the  past, 
Fashioned  in  thine  own  image,  see  how  fast 
The  world  obscures  in  me  what  once  was  bright ! 
Eternal  sun !  the  warmth  which  thou  hast  given, 
To  cheer  life’s  flowery  April,  fast  decays; 

Yet  in  the  hoary  winter  of  my  days, 

Forever  green  shall  be  my  trust  in  heaven. 
Celestial  King !  oh,  let  thy  presence  pass 
Before  my  spirit,  and  an  image  fair 
Shall  meet  that  look  of  mercy  from  on  high, 

As  the  reflected  image  in  a  glass 

Doth  meet  the  look  of  him  who  seeks  it  there, 

And  owes  its  being  to  the  gazer’s  eye. 


THE  EXISTENCE  AND  IDEA  OF  GOD 


9i 


THE  PROTECTION  OF  JEHOVAH 
Psalm  XXIII 

From  Moulton’s  Modern  Readers'  Bible 

The  Lord  is  my  shepherd; 

I  shall  not  want. 

He  maketh  me  to  lie  down  in  green  pastures : 

He  leadeth  me  beside  still  waters. 

He  restoreth  my  soul : 

He  guideth  me  in  paths  of  righteousness  for  his  name’s 
sake. 

Yea,  though  I  walk  through  the  valley  of  the  shadow  of 
death 

I  will  fear  no  evil; 

For  thou  art  with  me: 

Thy  rod  and  thy  staff,  they  comfort  me. 

Thou  preparest  a  table  before  me 
In  the  presence  of  mine  enemies': 

Thou  anointest  my  head  with  oil : 

My  cup  runneth  over. 

Surely  goodness  and  mercy  shall  follow  me  all  the  days  of  my 
life : 

And  I  will  dwell  in  the  house  of  the  Lord  forever. 


THE  DELIVERANCE  OF  JEHOVAH 
Psalm  XXVII 

From  Moulton’s  Modern  Readers'  Bible 

The  Lord  is  my  light  and  my  salvation; 

Whom  shall  I  fear? 

The  Lord  is  the  strength  of  my  life; 

Of  whom  shall  I  be  afraid? 


92  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


When  evil-doers  came  upon  me 
To  eat  up  my  flesh, 

Even  mine  adversaries  and  my  foes, 

They  stumbled  and  fell. 

Though  an  host  should  encamp  against  me, 

My  heart  shall  not  fear: 

Though  war  should  rise  against  me, 

Even  then  will  I  be  confident. 

One  thing  have  I  asked  of  the  Lord, 

That  will  I  seek  after; 

That  I  may  dwell  in  the  house  of  the  Lord 
All  the  days  of  my  life, 

To  behold  the  beauty  of  the  Lord, 

And  to  inquire  in  his  temple. 

For  in  the  day  of  trouble  he  shall  keep  me  secretly  in  his 
pavilion, 

In  the  covert  of  his  tabernacle  shall  he  hide  me ; 

He  shall  lift  me  up  upon  a  rock. 

And  now  shall  mine  head  be  lifted  up  above  mine 
enemies  round  about  me; 

1  will  offer  in  his  tabernacle  sacrifices  of  joy; 

I  will  sing,  yea,  I  will  sing  praises  unto  the  Lord. 

“Hear,  O  Lord,  when  I  cry  with  my  voice: 

Have  mercy  also  upon  me  and  answer  me. 

“Seek  ye  my  face” — 

“My  heart  said  unto  thee,  Thy  face,  Lord,  will  I  seek. 

Hide  not  thy  face  from  me; 

Put  not  thy  servant  away  in  anger. 

“Thou  hast  been  my  help,  cast  me  not  off: 

Neither  forsake  me,  O  God  of  my  salvation. 

When  my  father  and  my  mother  forsake  me, 

The  Lord  will  take  me  up. 

“Teach  me  thy  way,  O  Lord, 

And  lead  me  in  a  plain  path  because  of  mine  enemies ; 
Deliver  me  not  over  to  the  will  of  mine  adversaries : 

For  false  witnesses  are  risen  up  against  me,  and  such  as 
breathe  out  cruelty.” 


THE  EXISTENCE  AND  IDEA  OF  GOD 


93 

I  had  fainted,  unless  I  had  believed  to  see  the  goodness  of  the 
Lord 

In  the  land  of  the  living. 

Wait  on  the  Lord:  be  strong  and  let  thine  heart  take  courage; 
Yea,  wait  thou  on  the  Lord. 


JEHOVAH’S  IMMOVABLE  THRONE 
Psalm  XCIII 

The  Lord  reigneth;  he  is  apparelled  with  majesty; 

The  Lord  is  apparelled,  he  hath  girded  himself  with  strength. 
The  world  also  is  stablished,  that  it  cannot  be  moved : 

Thy  throne  is  established  of  old :  thou  art  from  everlasting. 

The  floods  have  lifted  up,  O  Lord, 

The  floods  have  lifted  up  their  voice ; 

The  floods  lift  up  their  waves. 

Above  the  voices  of  many  waters, 

The  mighty  breakers  of  the  sea, 

The  Lord  on  high  is  mighty. 

Thy  testimonies  are  very  sure : 

Lloliness  becometh  thine  house,  O  Lord,  forevermore. 

THE  PLAN  OF  SALVATION 
John  Milton 

From  Paradise  Lost ,  Bk.  Ill 
(Speech  of  the  Almighty) 

O  thou  in  heaven  and  earth  the  only  peace 
Found  out  for  mankind  under  wrath,  O  thou 
My  sole  complacence !  well  thou  know’st  how  dear 
To  me  are  all  my  works,  nor  man  the  least, 

Though  last  created,  that  for  him  I  spare 


THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  FOETRY 


Thee  from  my  bosom  and  right  hand,  to  save, 

By  losing  thee  awhile,  the  whole  race  lost. 

Thou  therefore  whom  thou  only  can’st  redeem 
Their  nature  also  to  thy  nature  join; 

And  be  thyself  Man  among  men  on  earth, 

Made  flesh,  when  time  shall  be,  of  virgin  seed, 
By  wondrous  birth :  be  thou  in  Adam’s  room 
The  head  of  all  mankind,  though  Adam’s  son. 

As  in  him  perish  all  men,  so  in  thee, 

As  from  a  second  root,  shall  be  restored, 

As  many  as  are  restored,  without  thee  none. 

His  crime  makes  guilty  all  his  sons;  thy  merit 
Imputed  shall  absolve  them  who  renounce 
Their  own  both  righteous  and  unrighteous  deeds, 
And  live  in  thee  transplanted,  and  from  thee 
Receive  new  life.  So  man,  as  is  most  just. 

Shall  satisfy  for  man,  be  judged  and  die; 

And  dying  rise,  and  rising  with  him  raise 
His  brethren,  ransomed  with  his  own  dear  life. 
So  heavenly  love  shall  outdo  hellish  hate, 

Giving  to  death,  and  dying  to  redeem, 

So  dearly  to  redeem  what  hellish  hate 
So  easily  destroyed,  and  still  destroys 
In  those  who,  when  they  may,  accept  not  grace. 
Nor  shalt  thou  by  descending  to  assume 
Man’s  nature  lessen  or  degrade  thine  own. 
Because  thou  hast,  though  throned  in  highest  bliss 
Equal  to  God,  and  equally  enjoying 
God-like  fruition,  quitted  all  to  save 
A  world  from  utter  loss,  and  hast  been  found 
By  merit  more  than  birthright,  Son  of  God, 
Found  worthiest  to  be  so  by  being  good, 

Far  more  than  great  or  high;  because  in  thee 
Love  hath  abounded  more  than  glory  abounds ; 
Therefore  thy  humiliation  shall  exalt 
With  thee  thy  manhood  also  to  this  throne; 

Here  shalt  thou  sit  incarnate,  here  shalt  reign 
Both  God  and  Man,  Son  both  of  God  and  Man, 
Anointed  universal  king;  all  power 
I  give  thee,  reign  for  ever,  and  assume 


THE  EXISTENCE  AND  IDEA  OF  GOD 


95 


Thy  merits;  under  thee  as  head  supreme 
Thrones,  Princedoms,  Powers,  Dominions,  I  reduce: 
All  knees  to  thee  shall  bow,  of  them  that  bide 
In  heaven,  or  earth,  or  under  earth  in  hell. 

When  thou,  attended  gloriously  from  heaven, 

Shalt  in  the  sky  appear,  and  from  thee  send 
The  summoning  archangels  to  proclaim 
Thy  dread  tribunal,  forthwith  from  all  winds 
The  living,  and  forthwith  the  cited  dead 
Of  all  past  ages,  to  the  general  doom 
Shall  hasten,  such  a  peal  shall  rouse  their  sleep. 

Then,  all  thy  saints  assembled,  thou  shalt  judge 
Bad  men  and  angels;  they  arraigned  shall  sink 
Beneath  thy  sentence ;  hell,  her  numbers  full, 
Thenceforth  shall  be  forever  shut.  Meanwhile 
The  world  shall  burn,  and  from  her  ashes  spring 
New  heaven  and  earth,  wherein  the  just  shall  dwell, 
And  after  all  their  tribulations  long 
See  golden  days,  fruitful  of  golden  deeds, 

With  joy  and  love  triumphing,  and  fair  truth: 

Then  thou  thy  regal  sceptre  shalt  lay  by, 

For  regal  sceptre  then  no  more  shall  need, 

God  shall  be  All  in  All.  But  all  ye  Gods 
Adore  Him,  who  to  compass  all  this  dies. 

Adore  the  Son,  and  honour  him  as  me. 


From  SONG  TO  DAVID 

Christopher  Smart 

Tell  them,  I  am,  Jehovah  said 
To  Moses;  while  earth  heard  in  dread, 
And,  smitten  to  the  heart, 

At  once  above,  beneath,  around, 

All  Nature,  without  voice  or  sound, 
Replied,  O  Lord,  Thou  art. 

Thou  art — to  give  and  to  confirm 
For  each  his  talent  and  his  term; 


96  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

All  flesh  thy  bounties  share : 

Thou  shalt  not  call  thy  brother  fool ; 

The  porches  of  the  Christian  school 
Are  meekness,  peace,  and  pray’r. 


Sweet  is  the  dew  that  falls  betimes, 

And  drops  upon  the  leafy  limes ; 

Sweet  Hermon’s  fragrant  air : 

Sweet  is  the  lily’s  silver  bell, 

And  sweet  the  wakeful  tapers’  smell, 

That  watch  for  early  pray’r. 

Sweet  the  young  nurse  with  love  intense, 
Which  smiles  o’er  sleeping  innocence ; 

Sweet  when  the  lost  arrive : 

Sweet  the  musician’s  ardour  beats, 

While  his  vague  mind’s  in  quest  of  sweets 
The  choicest  flow’rs  to  hive. 

Sweeter  in  all  the  strains  of  love, 

The  language  of  thy  turtle  dove, 

Pair’d  to  thy  swelling  chord; 

Sweeter  with  ev’ry  grace  endued, 

The  glory  of  thy  gratitude, 

Respir’d  unto  the  Lord. 

Strong  is  the  lion — like  a  coal 
His  eye-ball — like  a  bastion’s  mole 
His  chest  against  the  foes : 

Strong  the  gier-eagle  on  his  sail, 

Strong  against  tide,  th’  enormous  whale 
Emerges,  as  he  goes. 

But  stronger  still,  in  earth  and  air, 

And  in  the  sea,  the  man  of  pray’r ; 

And  far  beneath  the  tide; 

And  in  the  seat  to  faith  assign’d, 

Where  ask  is  have,  where  seek  is  find, 
Where  knock  is  open  side. 


THE  EXISTENCE  AND  IDEA  OF  GOD 


97 


Beauteous  the  fleet  before  the  gale ; 
Beauteous  the  multitudes  in  mail, 

Rank’d  arms  and  crested  heads : 
Beauteous  the  garden’s  umbrage  mild — 
Walk,  water,  meditated  wild, 

And  all  the  bloomy  beds. 

Beauteous  the  moon  full  on  the  lawn; 

And  beauteous,  when  the  veil’s  withdrawn, 
The  virgin  to  her  spouse : 

Beauteous  the  temple  deck’d  and  fill’d, 
When  to  the  heav’n  of  heav’ns  they  build 
Their  heart-directed  vows. 

Precious  the  penitential  tear; 

And  precious  is  the  sigh  sincere. 

Acceptable  to  God : 

And  precious  are  the  winning  flow’rs, 

In  gladsome  Israel’s  feast  of  bow’rs 
Bound  on  the  hallow’d  sod. 

More  precious  that  diviner  part 
Of  David,  ev’n  the  Lord’s  own  heart, 
Great,  beautiful,  and  new : 

In  all  things  where  it  was  intent, 

In  all  estreams,  in  each  event, 

Proof — answ’ring  true  to  true. 

Glorious  the  sun  in  mid  career, 

Glorious  th’  assembled  fires  appear, 

Glorious  the  comet’s  train : 

Glorious  the  trumpet  and  alarm, 

Glorious  th’  Almighty’s  stretch’d-out  arm, 
Glorious  th’  enraptur’d  main : 

Glorious  the  northern  lights  astream, 
Glorious  the  song,  when  God’s  the  theme, 
Glorious  the  thunder’s  roar  : 

Glorious  hosanna  from  the  den, 

Glorious  the  Catholic  amen, 

Glorious  the  martyr’s  gore : 


98  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


Glorious — more  glorious — is  the  crown 
Of  Him,  that  brought  salvation  down 
By  meekness,  call’d  Thy  Son; 

Thou  that  stupendous  truth  believ’d; — 

And  now  the  matchless  deed’s  achiev’d, 
Determin’d,  dar’d,  and  done  ! 

From  AN  HYMN  OF  HEAVENLY  BEAUTY 

Edmund  Spenser 

But  whoso  may,  thrice  happy  man  him  hold 
Of  all  on  earth  whom  God  so  much  doth  grace 
And  lets  his  own  Beloved  to  behold; 

For  in  the  view  of  her  celestial  face 
All  joy,  all  bliss,  all  happiness  have  place; 

Ne  ought  on  earth  can  want  unto  the  wight 
Who  of  herself  can  win  the  wishful  sight. 

For  she  out  of  her  secret  treasury, 

Plenty  of  riches  forth  on  him  will  pour, 

Even  heavenly  riches,  which  there  hidden  lie 
Within  the  closet  of  her  chastest  bower, 

The  eternal  portion  of  her  precious  dower, 

Which  mighty  God  hath  given  to  her  free, 

And  to  all  those  which  thereof  worthy  be. 

None  thereof  worthy  be  but  those  whom  she 
Vouchsafeth  to  her  presence  to  receive, 

And  letteth  them  her  lovely  face  to  see, 

Whereof  such  wondrous  pleasure  they  conceive, 
And  sweet  contentment,  that  it  doth  bereave 
Their  soul  of  sense,  through  infinite  del  ight, 

And  them  transport  from  flesh  into  the  spright. 

In  which  they  see  such  admirable  things 
As  carries  them  into  ecstasy, 

And  hear  such  heavenly  notes  and  carollings 
Of  God’s  high  praise,  that  fills  the  brazen  sky; 


THE  EXISTENCE  AND  IDEA  OF  GOD 


99 


And  feel  such  joy  and  pleasure  inwardly 
That  maketh  them  all  worldly  cares  forget, 
And  only  think  on  that  before  them  set. 


Ah,  then,  my  hungry  soul !  which  long  hast  fed 
On  idle  fancies  of  thy  foolish  thought, 

And,  with  false  beauties’  flattering  bait  misled, 
Hast  after  vain  deceitful  shadows  sought, 

Which  all  are  fled,  and  now  have  left  thee  nought 
But  late  repentance  through  thy  folly’s  prief ; 

Ah  !  cease  to  gaze  on  matter  of  thy  grief. 

And  look  at  last  up  to  that  sovereign  Light, 

From  whose  pure  beams  all  perfect  beauty  springs, 
That  kindleth  love  in  every  godly  spright, 

Even  the  Love  of  God;  which  loathing  brings 
Of  this  vile  world  and  these  gay-seeming  things; 
With  whose  sweet  pleasures  being  so  possessed, 
Thy  straying  thoughts  henceforth  forever  rest. 


THE  MAJESTY  OF  GOD 
Thomas  Sternhold 

The  Lord  descended  from  above, 

And  bowed  the  heavens  most  high, 

And  underneath  his  feet  he  cast 
The  darkness  of  the  sky. 

On  Cherubim  and  Seraphim 
Full  royally  he  rode, 

On  the  wings  of  mighty  winds 
Came  flying  all  abroad. 

He  sat  serene  upon  the  floods, 

Their  fury  to  restrain; 

And  he,  as  sovereign  Lord  and  King 
Forevermore  shall  reign. 


THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


d.  EIGHTEENTH  CENTURY 


RELIGIOUS  MUSINGS 
Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge 

I 

There  is  one  Mind,  one  omnipresent  Mind, 

Omnific.  His  most  holy  name  is  Love. 

Truth  of  subliming  import!  With  the  which 
Who  feeds  and  saturates  his  constant  soul, 

He  from  his  small  particular  orbit  flies, 

With  blest  outstarting !  from  Himself  he  flies, 
Stands  in  the  Sun,  and  with  no  partial  gaze 
Views  all  creation;  and  he  loves  it  all, 

And  blesses  it,  and  calls  it  very  good ! 

This  is  indeed  to  dwell  with  the  Most  High ! 
Cherubs  and  rapture — trembling  Seraphim 
Can  press  no  nearer  to  the  Almighty’s  throne. 

But  that  we  roam  unconscious,  or  with  hearts 
Unfeeling  of  our  universal  Sire, 

And  that  in  His  vast  family  no  Cain 
Injures  uninjured  (in  her  best-aimed  blow 
Victorious  Murder  a  blind  Suicide) 

Haply  for  this  some  younger  Angel  now 
Looks  down  on  Human  Nature:  and  behold! 

A  sea  of  blood  bestrewed  with  wrecks,  where  mad 
Embattling  Interests  on  each  other  rush 
With  unhelmed  Rage ! 

’Tis  the  sublime  of  man 
Our  noontide  majesty,  to  know  ourselves 
Parts  and  proportions  of  one  wondrous  whole  ! 
This  fraternizes  man,  this  constitutes 
Our  charities  and  bearings.  But  ’tis  God 
Diffused  through  all  that  doth  make  all  one  whole; 
Aught  to  desire,  Supreme  Reality ! 

The  plentitude  and  permanence  of  bliss ! 


THE  EXISTENCE  AND  IDEA  OF  GOD 


IOI 


II 

Toy-bewitched, 

Made  blind  by  lusts,  disinherited  of  soul, 

No  common  center  Man,  no  common  sire 
Knoweth !  A  sordid  solitary  thing, 

Mid  countless  brethren,  with  a  lonely  heart 
Through  courts  and  cities  the  smooth  savage  roams 
Feeling  himself,  his  own  low  self,  the  whole; 
When  by  sacred  sympathy  might  make 
The  whole  one  Self!  Self,  that  no  alien  knows! 
Self,  far-diffused  as  fancy’s  wing  can  travel ! 

Self,  spreading  still !  Oblivious  of  its  own, 

Yet  all  of  all  possessing!  That  is  Faith! 

’Tis  the  Messiah’s  destined  victory. 

From  RELIGIO  LAICI 
John  Dryden 


Thus  man  by  his  own  strength  to  Heaven  would  soar 
And  would  not  be  obliged  to  God  for  more. 

Vain,  wretched  creature,  how  thou  art  misled, 

To  think  thy  wit  these  God-like  notions  bred! 

These  truths  are  not  the  product  of  thy  mind, 

But  dropp’d  from  heaven,  and  of  a  nobler  kind. 

Revealed  religion  first  informed  thy  sight, 

And  reason  saw  not  till  faith  sprung  the  light. 

Hence  all  thy  natural  worship  takes  the  source : 

’Tis  Revelation  what  thou  think’t  Discourse. 

Else  how  com’st  thou  to  see  these  truths  so  clear, 

Which  so,  obscure  to  heathens  did  appear? 

Not  Plato  these,  nor  Aristotle  found: 

Not  he  whose  wisdom  oracles  renowned. 

Hast  thou  a  wit  so  deep,  or  so  sublime, 

Or  canst  thou  lower  dive,  or  higher  climb? 

Canst  thou  by  reason  more  of  Godhead  know 
Than  Plutarch,  Seneca,  or  Cicero? 


102  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


Those  giant  wits  in  happier  ages  born, 

When  arms  and  arts  did  Greece  and  Rome  adorn, 

Knew  no  such  system;  no  such  piles  could  raise 
Of  natural  worship,  built  on  prayer  and  praise. 

To  one  sole  GOD  : 

Nor  did  remorse  to  expiate  sin  prescribe, 

But  slew  their  fellow-creatures  for  a  bribe : 

The  guiltless  victim  groaned  for  their  offence, 

And  cruelty  and  blood  was  penitence. 

If  sheep  and  oxen  could  atone  for  men, 

Ah !  at  how  cheap  a  rate  the  rich  might  sin ! 

And  great  oppressors  might  heaven’s  wrath  beguile 
By  offering  his  own  creatures  for  a  spoil ! 

Darest  thou,  poor  worm,  offend  Infinity  ? 

And  must  the  terms  of  peace  be  given  by  Thee  ? 

Then  thou  art  Justice  in  the  last  appeal; 

Thy  easy  God  instructs  thee  to  rebel : 

And,  like  a  king  remote,  and  weak,  must  take 
What  satisfaction  thou  art  pleased  to  make. 

But  if  there  be  a  Power  too  just  and  strong 
To  wink  at  crimes  and  hear  unpunished  wrong, 

Look  humbly  upward,  see  his  will  disclose 
The  forfeit  first  and  then  the  fine  impose : 

A  mulct  thy  poverty  could  never  pay, 

Had  not  Eternal  Wisdom  found  the  way: 

And  with  celestial  wealth  supplied  thy  store : 

His  justice  makes  the  fine,  His  mercy  quits  the  score* 
See  God  descending  in  thy  human  frame; 

The  Offended  suffering  in  the  offender’s  name : 

All  thy  deeds  to  Him  imputed  see, 

And  all  His  righteousness  devolved  on  Thee. 

Proof  needs  not  here;  for  whether  we  compare 
The  impious,  idle,  superstitious  ware 
Of  rites,  lustrations,  offerings,  which  before, 

In  various  ages,  various  countries  bore, 

With  Christian  Faith  and  Virtues,  we  shall  find 
None  answering  the  great  needs  of  human  kind, 

But  his  one  rule  of  life;  that  shows  us  best 
Plow  God  may  be  appeased  and  mortals  blest. 


THE  EXISTENCE  AND  IDEA  OF  GOD 


103 


Whether  from  length  of  time  its  worth  we  draw, 

The  world  is  scarce  more  ancient  than  the  law : 

Heaven’s  early  care  prescribed  for  every  age; 

First,  in  the  soul,  and  after,  in  the  page, 

Or,  whether  more  abstractedly  we  look, 

Or  in  the  writers,  or  in  the  written  book, 

Whence,  but  from  heaven  could  men,  unskilled  in  arts, 
In  several  ages  born,  in  several  parts, 

Weave  such  agreeing  truths?  or  how,  or  why 
Should  all  conspire  to  cheat  us  with  a  lie? 

Unasked  their  pains,  ungrateful  their  advice, 

Starving  their  gain,  and  martyrdom  their  price. 

If  on  the  Book  itself  we  cast  our  view, 

Concurrent,  heathens  prove  the  story  true : 

The  doctrine,  miracles;  which  must  convince, 

For  Heaven  in  them  appeals  to  human  sense; 

And  though  they  prove  not,  they  confirm  the  cause, 

When  what  is  taught  agrees  with  Nature’s  laws. 

Then  for  the  style,  majestic  and  divine, 

It  speaks  no  less  than  God  in  every  line : 

Commanding  words;  whose  force  is  still  the  same 
As  the  first  fiat  that  produced  our  frame. 

All  faiths  aside  or  did  by  arms  ascend, 

Or,  sense  indulged,  has  made  mankind  their  friend: 
This  only  doctrine  does  our  lusts  oppose — 

Unfed  by  nature’s  soil,  in  which  it  grows; 

Cross  to  our  interests,  curbing  sense  and  sin; 

Oppressed  without,  and  undermined  within, 

It  thrives  through  pain;  its  own  tormentors  tires; 

And  with  a  stubborn  patience  still  aspires, 

To  what  can  Reason  such  affects  assign, 

Transcending  Nature,  but  to  laws  divine? 

Which  in  that  sacred  volume  are  contained; 

Sufficient,  clear,  and  for  that  use  ordained. 


104  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


THE  MAJESTY  AND  MERCY  OF  GOD 
Sir  Robert  Grant 

Oh,  worship  the  King  all  glorious  above ; 

Oh,  gratefully  sing  his  power  and  his  love ; 

Our  shield  and  defender,  the  Ancient  of  Days 
Pavilioned  in  splendor  and  girded  with  praise. 

Oh,  tell  of  his  might,  Oh,  sing  of  his  grace, 

Whose  robe  is  the  light,  whose  canopy  space ; 

His  chariots  of  wrath  the  deep  thunder  clouds  form, 
And  dark  is  his  path  on  the  wings  of  the  storm. 

The  earth,  with  its  store  of  wonders  untold, 
Almighty,  thy  power  hath  founded  of  old, 

Hath  stablished  it  fast  by  a  changeless  decree, 

And  round  it  hath  cast,  like  a  mantle,  the  sea. 

Thy  bountiful  care  what  tongue  can  recite? 

It  breathes  in  the  air,  it  shines  in  the  light, 

It  streams  from  the  hills,  it  descends  to  the  plain, 
And  sweetly  distills  in  the  dew  and  the  rain. 

Frail  children  of  dust  and  feeble  as  frail 
In  thee  do  we  trust,  nor  find  thee  to  fail. 

Thy  mercies  how  tender,  how  firm  to  the  end, 

Our  Maker,  Defender,  Redeemer  and  Friend. 

Oh,  measureless  Might,  ineffable  Love, 

While  angels  delight  to  hymn  thee  above, 

The  humbler  creation,  though  feeble  their  lays, 
With  true  adoration  shall  lisp  to  thy  praise. 


THE  EXISTENCE  AND  IDEA  OF  GOD 


105 


From  THE  ESSAY  ON  MAN 
Alexander  Pope 

All  are  but  parts  of  one  stupendous  whole, 

Whose  body  Nature  is,  and  God  the  soul; 

That,  changed  through  all,  and  yet  in  all  the  same, 
Great  in  the  earth,  as  in  th’ethereal  frame, 

Warms  in  the  sun,  refreshes  in  the  breeze, 

Glows  in  the  stars  and  blossoms  in  the  trees, 

Lives  through  life,  extends  through  all  extent, 
Spreads  undivided,  operates  unspent : 

Breathes  in  our  soul,  informs  our  mortal  part; 

As  full,  as  perfect,  in  a  hair  as  heart; 

As  full,  as  perfect,  in  vile  man  that  mourns 
As  the  rapt  Seraphim,  that  adores  and  burns : 

To  him,  no  high,  no  low,  no  great,  no  small — 

He  fills,  he  bounds,  connects  and  equals  all  .  .  . 
All  nature  is  but  art,  unknown  to  thee : 

All  chance,  direction,  which  thou  canst  not  see : 
All  discord,  harmony  not  understood ; 

All  partial  evil,  universal  good. 


€.  NINETEENTH  CENTURY 


From  AURORA  LEIGH 

Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning 

Truth,  so  far,  in  my  book; — the  truth  which  draws 
Through  all  things  upwards, — that  a  twofold  world 
Must  go  to  a  perfect  cosmos.  Natural  things 
And  spiritual, — who  separates  those  two 
In  art,  in  morals,  or  the  social  drift, 

Tears  up  the  bond  of  nature  and  brings  death, 
Paints  futile  pictures,  writes  unreal  verse, 


io6  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


Leads  vulgar  days,  deals  ignorantly  with  men, 

Is  wrong,  in  short,  at  all  points.  We  divide 
This  apple  of  life,  and  cut  it  through  the  pips: — 

The  perfect  round  which  fitted  Venus’  hand 

Has  perished  as  utterly  as  if  we  ate 

Both  halves.  Without  the  spiritual,  observe, 

The  natural's  impossible, — no  form, 

No  motion:  without  sensuous,  spiritual 
Is  inappreciable, — no  beauty  or  power : 

And  in  this  twofold  sphere  the  twofold  man 
(For  still  the  artist  is  intensely  a  man) 

Holds  firmly  by  the  natural,  to  reach 

The  spiritual  beyond  it, — fixes  still 

The  type  with  mortal  vision,  to  pierce  through, 

With  eyes  immortal,  to  the  antetype 
Some  call  the  ideal, — better  called  the  real. 

And  certain  to  be  called  so  presently, 

When  things  shall  have  their  names.  Look  long  enough 
On  any  peasant’s  face  here,  coarse  and  lined, 

You’ll  catch  Antinous  somewhere  in  that  clay, 

As  perfect-featured  as  he  yearns  at  Rome 
From  marble  pale  with  beauty;  then  persist, 

And,  if  your  apprehension’s  competent, 

You’ll  find  some  fairer  angel  at  his  back, 

As  much  exceeding  him  as  he  the  boor, 

And  pushing  him  with  empyreal  disdain 
For  ever  out  of  sight.  Aye,  Carrington 
Is  glad  of  such  a  creed:  an  artist  must, 

Who  paints  a  tree,  a  leaf,  a  common  stone 
With  just  his  hand,  and  finds  it  suddenly 
A-piece  with  and  conterminous  to  his  soul. 

Why  else  do  these  things  move  him, — leaf  or  stone? 

The  bird’s  not  moved,  that  pecks  at  a  spring  shoot: 

Nor  yet  the  horse,  before  a  quarry  a-graze : 

But  man,  the  twofold  creature,  apprehends 
The  twofold  manner,  in  and  outwardly, 

And  nothing  in  the  world  comes  single  to  him, 

A  mere  itself, — cup,  column  or  candlestick, 

All  patterns  of  what  shall  be  in  the  Mount; 

The  whole  temporal  show  related  royally, 


THE  EXISTENCE  AND  IDEA  OF  GOD 


107 


And  built  up  to  eterne  significance 

Through  the  open  arms  of  God.  “There’s  nothing  great 
Nor  small/’  has  said  a  poet  of  our  day, 

Whose  voice  will  ring  beyond  the  curfew  of  eve 
And  not  be  thrown  out  by  the  matin’s  bell ; 

And  truly,  I  reiterate,  nothing’s  small ! 

No  lily-muffled  hum  of  a  summer  bee, 

But  finds  some  coupling  with  the  spinning  stars; 

No  pebble  at  your  foot,  but  proves  a  sphere; 

No  chaffinch,  but  implies  the  cherubim; 

And  (  glancing  on  my  own  thin,  veined  wrist) 

In  such  a  little  tremor  of  the  blood 

The  whole  strong  clamor  of  a  vehement  soul 

Doth  utter  itself  distinct.  Earth’s  crammed  with  heaven 

And  every  common  bush  afire  with  God; 

But  only  he  who  sees  takes  off  his  shoes, 

The  rest  sit  round  it  and  pluck  blackberries, 

And  daub  their  natural  faces  unaware 
More  and  more  from  the  first  similitude. 


ABT  VOGLER 
Robert  Browning 

Would  that  the  structure  brave,  the  manifold  music  I  build, 
Bidding  my  organ  obey,  calling  its  keys  to  their  work, 

Claiming  each  slave  of  the  sound,  at  a  touch,  as  when  Solomon 
willed 

Armies  of  angels  that  soar,  legions  of  demons  that  lurk, 

Man,  brute,  reptile,  fly, — alien  of  end  and  of  aim, 

Adverse,  each  from  the  other  heaven-high,  heel-deep 
removed — 

Should  rush  into  sight  at  once  as  he  named  the  ineffable  Name, 

And  pile  him  a  palace  straight,  to  pleasure  the  princess  he  loved. 

Would  it  might  tarry  like  his,  the  beautiful  building  of  mine, 
This  which  my  keys  in  a  crowd  pressed  and  importuned  to 
raise ! 

Ah,  one  and  all,  how  they  helped,  would  dispart  now  and  now 
combine, 


io8  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


Zealous  to  hasten  the  work,  heighten  their  master  his  praise ! 

And  one  would  bury  his  brow  with  a  blind  plunge  down  to  hell, 
Burrow  awhile  and  build,  broad  on  the  roots  of  things, 

Then  up  again  swim  into  sight,  having  based  me  my  palace  well. 
Founded  it,  fearless  of  flame,  flat  on  the  nether  springs. 

And  another  would  mount  and  march,  like  the  excellent  minion 
he  was, 

Ay,  another  and  yet  another,  one  crowd  but  with  many  a 
crest, 

Raising  my  rampired  walls  of  gold  as  transparent  as  glass, 
Eager  to  do  and  die,  yield  each  his  place  to  the  rest : 

For  higher  still  and  higher  (as  a  runner  tips  with  fire, 

When  a  great  illumination  surprises  a  festal  night — 

Outlined  round  and  round  Rome’s  dome  from  space  to  spire) 
Up,  the  pinnacled  glory  reached,  and  the  pride  of  my  soul 
was  in  sight. 

In  sight?  Not  half!  for  it  seemed,  it  was  certain,  to  match 
man’s  birth, 

Nature  in  turn  conceived,  obeying  an  impulse  as  I; 

And  the  emulous  heaven  yearned  down,  made  effort  to  reach 
the  earth, 

As  the  earth  had  done  her  best,  in  my  passion,  to  scale  the 
sky : 

Novel  splendors  burst  forth,  grew  familiar  and  dwelt  with  mine, 
Not  a  point  nor  peak  but  found  and  fixed  its  wandering  star; 

Meteor-moons,  balls  of  blaze :  and  they  did  not  pale  nor  pine, 
For  earth  had  attained  to  heaven,  there  was  no  more  near 
nor  far. 

Nay  more;  for  there  wanted  not  who  walked  in  the  glare  and 
glow, 

Presences  plain  in  the  place ;  or,  fresh  from  the  Protoplast, 

Furnished  for  ages  to  come,  when  a  kindlier  wind  should  blow, 
Lured  now,  to  begin  and  live,  in  a  house  to  their  liking  at 
last ; 

Or  else  the  wonderful  Dead  who  have  passed  through  the  body 
and  gone, 

But  were  back  once  more  to  breathe  in  an  old  world  worth 
their  new; 


THE  EXISTENCE  AND  IDEA  OF  GOD  109 

What  never  had  been,  was  now ;  what  was,  as  it  shall  be  anon ; 
And  what  is, — shall  I  say,  matched  both?  for  I  was  made 
perfect  too. 

All  thro’  my  keys  that  gave  their  sounds  to  a  wish  of  my  soul, 
All  thro’  my  soul  that  praised  as  its  wish  flowed  visibly  forth, 
All  thro’  music  and  me  !  For  think,  had  I  painted  the  whole, 
Why,  there  it  had  stood,  to  see,  nor  the  process  so  wonder- 
worth  : 

Had  I  written  the  same,  made  verse — still,  effect  proceeds  from 
cause, 

Ye  know  why  the  forms  are  fair,  ye  hear  how  the  tale  is 
told : 

It  is  all  triumphant  art,  but  art  in  obedience  to  laws, 

Painter  and  poet  are  proud,  in  the  artist-list  enrolled: — 

But  here  is  the  finger  of  God,  a  flash  of  the  will  that  can, 
Existent  behind  all  laws,  that  made  them,  and  lo,  they  are  ! 
And  I  know  not  if,  save  in  this,  such  gift  be  allowed  to  man. 
That  out  of  three  sounds  he  frame,  not  a  fourth  sound,  but 
a  star. 

Consider  it  well:  each  tone  of  our  scale  in  itself  is  naught: 

It  is  everywhere  in  the  world — loud,  soft,  and  all  is  said: 
Give  it  to  me  to  use  !  I  mix  it  with  two  in  my  thought : 

And,  there!  Ye  have  heard  and  seen:  consider  and  bow 
the  head ! 

Well,  it  is  gone  at  last,  the  palace  of  music  I  reared; 

Gone !  and  the  good  tears  start,  the  praises  that  come  too 
slow ; 

For  one  is  assured  at  first,  one  scarce  can  say  that  he  feared, 
That  he  even  gave  it  a  thought,  the  gone  thing  was  to  go. 
Never  to  be  again!  But  many  more  of  the  kind 

As  good,  nay,  better  perchance :  is  this  your  comfort  to  me  ? 
To  me,  who  must  be  saved  because  I  cling  with  my  mind 
To  the  same,  same  self,  same  love,  same  God:  ay,  what  was, 
shall  be. 

Therefore  to  whom  turn  I  but  to  thee,  the  ineffable  Name? 
Builder  and  maker,  Thou,  of  houses  not  made  with  hands' 


no  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


What,  have  fear  of  change  from  Thee  who  art  ever  the  same? 
Doubt  that  Thy  power  can  fill  the  heart  that  Thy  power 
expands  ? 

There  shall  never  be  one  lost  good  !  What  was,  shall  live  as 
before ; 

The  evil  is  null,  is  naught,  is  silence  implying  sound; 

What  was  good  shall  be  good,  with,  for  evil,  so  much  good 
more ; 

On  the  earth  the  broken  arcs;  in  the  heaven  a  perfect 
round. 

All  we  have  willed  or  hoped  or  dreamed  of  good  shall  exist; 

Not  its  semblance  but  itself;  no  beauty,  nor  good  nor  power 
Whose  voice  has  gone  forth,  but  each  survives  for  the  melodist 
When  eternity  affirms  the  conception  of  an  hour. 

The  high  that  proved  too  high,  the  heroic  for  earth  too  hard, 
The  passion  that  left  the  ground  to  lose  itself  in  the  sky, 

Are  music  sent  up  to  God  by  the  lover  and  the  bard; 

Enough  that  he  heard  it  once ;  we  shall  hear  it  by  and  by. 

And  what  is  our  failure  here  but  a  triumph’s  evidence 

For  the  fulness  of  the  days?  Have  we  withered  or  agonized? 
Why  else  was  the  pause  prolonged  but  that  singing  might  issue 
thence  ? 

Why  rushed  the  discords  in  but  that  harmony  should  be 
prized  ? 

Sorrow  is  hard  to  bear,  and  doubt  is  slow  to  clear, 

Each  sufferer  says  his  say,  his  scheme  of  the  weal  and  woe : 
But  God  has  a  few  of  us  whom  he  whispers  in  the  ear; 

The  rest  may  reason  and  welcome ;  ’tis  we  musicians  know. 

Well,  it  is  earth  with  me;  silence  resumes  her  reign: 

I  will  be  patient  and  proud,  and  soberly  acquiesce. 

Give  me  the  keys.  I  feel  for  the  common  chord  again, 
Sliding  by  semi-tones  till  I  sink  to  a  minor, — yes, 

And  I  blunt  it  into  a  ninth,  and  I  stand  on  alien  ground, 
Surveying  a  while  the  heights  I  rolled  from  into  the  deep; 
Which,  hark,  I  have  dared  and  done,  for  my  resting-place  is 
found, 

The  C  Major  of  this  life:  so,  now  I  will  try  to  sleep. 


THE  EXISTENCE  AND  IDEA  OF  GOD 


hi 


CALIBAN  UPON  SETEBOS 
or 

NATURAL  THEOLOGY  IN  THE  ISLAND 
Robert  Browning 

“Thou  thoughtest  that  I  was  altogether  such  an  one  as  thyself.” 

[’Will  sprawl,  now  that  the  heat  of  day  is  best, 

Flat  on  his  belly  in  the  pit’s  much  mire, 

With  elbows  wide,  fists  clenched  to  prop  his  chin. 

And,  while  he  kicks  both  feet  in  the  cool  slush, 

And  feels  about  his  spine  small  eft-things  course, 

Run  in  and  out  each  arm,  and  make  him  laugh : 

And  while  above  his  head  a  pompion-plant, 

Coating  the  cave-top  as  a  brow  its  eye, 

Creeps  down  to  touch  and  tickle  hair  and  beard, 

And  now  a  flower  drops  with  a  bee  inside. 

And  now  a  fruit  to  snap  at,  catch  and  crunch, — 

He  looks  out  o’er  yon  sea  which  sunbeams  cross 
And  recross  till  they  weave  a  spider  web, 

(Meshes  of  fire,  some  great  fish  breaks  at  times) 

And  talks  to  his  own  self,  howe’er  he  please, 

Touching  that  other,  whom  his  dam  called  God. 

Because  to  talk  about  Him,  vexes — ha, 

Could  He  but  know !  and  time  to  vex  is  now, 

When  talk  is  safer  than  in  winter-time. 

Moreover  Prosper  and  Miranda  sleep 
In  confidence  he  drudges  at  their  task, 

And  it  is  good  to  cheat  the  pair,  and  gibe, 

Letting  the  rank  tongue  blossom  into  speech.] 

Setebos,  Setebos,  and  Setebos ! 

’Thinketh,  Pie  dwelleth  i’  the  cold  o’  the  moon. 

’Thinketh  He  made  it,  with  the  sun  to  match, 

But  not  the  stars ;  the  stars  came  otherwise ; 

Only  made  clouds,  winds,  meteors,  such  as  that : 


1 12  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


Also  this  isle,  what  lives  and  grows  thereon, 

And  snaky  sea  which  rounds  and  ends  the  same. 
’Thinketh,  it  came  of  being  ill  at  ease : 

He  hated  that  He  cannot  change  His  cold, 

Nor  cure  its  ache.  'Hath  spied  an  icy  fish 

That  longed  to  ’scape  the  rock-stream  where  she  lived. 

And  thaw  herself  within  the  lukewarm  brine 

O’  the  lazy  sea  her  stream  thrusts  far  amid, 

A  crystal  spike  ’twixt  two  warm  walls  of  wave ; 

Only,  she  ever  sickened,  found  repulse 
At  the  other  kind  of  water,  not  her  life, 

(Green-dense  and  dim-delicious,  bred  o’  the  sun) 
Flounced  back  from  bliss  she  was  not  born  to  breathe, 
And  in  her  old  bounds  buried  her  despair, 

Hating  and  loving  warmth  alike :  so  He. 

’Thinketh,  He  made  thereat  the  sun,  this  isle, 

Trees  and  the  fowls  here,  beast  and  creeping  thing. 

Yon  otter,  sleek-wet,  black,  lithe  as  a  leech; 

Yon  auk,  one  fire-eye  in  a  ball  of  foam, 

That  floats  and  feeds;  a  certain  badger  brown, 

He  hath  watched  hunt  with  that  slant  white-wedge  eye 
By  moonlight;  and  the  pie  with  the  long  tongue 
That  pricks  deep  into  oakwarts  for  a  worm, 

And  says  a  plain  word  when  she  finds  her  prize, 

But  will  not  eat  the  ants ;  the  ants  themselves 
That  build  a  wall  of  seeds  and  settled  stalks 
About  their  hole — He  made  all  these  and  more, 

Made  all  we  see,  and  us,  in  spite:  how  else? 

He  could  not,  Himself,  make  a  second  self 
To  be  His  mate:  as  well  have  made  Himself: 

He  would  not  make  what  He  mislikes  or  slights, 

An  eyesore  to  Him,  or  not  worth  His  pains; 

But  did,  in  envy,  listlessness,  or  sport, 

Make  what  Himself  would  fain,  in  a  manner,  be — 
Weaker  in  most  points,  stronger  in  a  few, 

Worthy,  and  yet  mere  playthings  all  the  while, 

Things  He  admires  and  mocks  too, — that  is  it ! 

Because,  so  brave,  so  better  tho’  they  be, 

It  nothing  skills  if  He  begin  to  plague. 


THE  EXISTENCE  AND  IDEA  OF  GOD  113 

Look  now,  I  melt  a  gourd-fruit  into  mash, 

Add  honeycomb  and  pods,  I  have  perceived, 

Which  bite  like  finches  when  they  bill  and  kiss, — 

Then,  when  froth  rises  bladdery,  drink  up  all, 

Quick,  quick,  till  maggots  scamper  thro’  my  brain; 

Last,  throw  me  on  my  back  i’  the  seeded  thyme, 

And  wanton,  wishing  I  were  born  a  bird. 

Put  case,  unable  to  be  what  I  wish, 

I  yet  could  make  a  live  bird  out  of  clay : 

Would  not  I  take  clay,  pinch  my  Caliban 
Able  to  fly  ? — for  there,  see,  he  hath  wings, 

And  great  comb  like  the  hoopoe’s  to  admire, 

And  there,  a  sting  to  do  his  foes  offence, 

There,  and  I  will  that  he  begin  to  live, 

Fly  to  yon  rock -top,  nip  me  off  the  horns 
Of  grigs  high  up  that  make  the  merry  din, 

Saucy  thro’  their  veined  wings,  and  mind  me  not 
In  which  feat,  if  his  leg  snapped,  brittle  clay. 

And  he  lay  stupid-like, — why,  I  should  laugh; 

And  if  he,  spying  me,  should  fall  to  weep, 

Beseech  me  to  be  good,  repair  his  wrong. 

Bid  his  poor  leg  smart  less  or  grow  again, — 

Well,  as  the  chance  were,  this  might  take  or  else 
Not  take  my  fancy:  I  might  hear  his  cry. 

And  give  the  mankin  three  sound  legs  for  one. 

Or  pluck  the  other  off,  leave  him  like  an  egg, 

And  lessoned  he  was  mine  and  merely  clay. 

Were  this  no  pleasure,  lying  in  the  thyme, 

Drinking  the  mash,  with  brain  become  alive, 

Making  and  marring  clay  at  will?  So  He. 

’Thinketh  such  shows  nor  right  nor  wrong  in  Him; 

Nor  kind,  nor  cruel:  He  is  strong  and  Lord. 

’Am  strong  myself  compared  to  yonder  crabs 
That  march  now  from  the  mountain  to  the  sea ; 

’Let  twenty  pass,  and  stone  the  twenty-first, 

Loving  not,  hating  not,  just  choosing  so. 

’Say,  the  first  straggler  that  boasts  purple  spots 
Shall  join  the  file,  one  pincer  twisted  off; 

’Say,  this  bruised  fellow  shall  receive  a  worm. 


1 14  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

And  two  worms  he  whose  nippers  end  in  red: 

As  it  likes  me  each  time,  I  do :  so  He. 

Well  then,  ’supposeth  He  is  good  i’  the  main, 

Placable  if  His  mind  and  ways  were  guessed, 

But  rougher  than  Plis  handiwork,  be  sure ! 

Oh,  He  hath  made  things  worthier  than  Himself, 

And  envieth  that,  so  helped,  such  things  do  more 
Than  He  who  made  them!  What  consoles  but  this? 
That  they,  unless  thro’  Him,  do  naught  at  all, 

And  must  submit :  what  other  use  in  things  ? 

’Hath  cut  a  pipe  of  pithless  elder-joint 

That,  blown  through,  gives  exact  the  scream  o’  the  jay 

When  from  her  wing  you  twitch  the  feathers  blue : 

Sound  this,  and  little  birds  that  hate  the  jay 
Flock  within  stone’s  throw,  glad  their  foe  is  hurt : 

Put  case  such  pipe  could  prattle  and  boast  forsooth 
“I  catch  the  birds,  I  am  the  crafty  thing, 

I  make  the  cry  my  maker  cannot  make 

With  his  great  round  mouth ;  he  must  blow  thro’  mine  V' 

Would  not  I  smash  it  with  my  foot?  So  He. 

But  wherefore  rough,  why  cold  and  ill  at  ease  ? 

Aha,  that  is  a  question !  Ask,  for  that, 

What  knows, — the  something  over  Setebos 
That  made  Plim,  or  He,  may  be,  found  and  fought, 
Worsted,  drove  off  and  did  to  nothing,  perchance. 

There  may  be  something  quiet  o’er  His  head, 

Out  of  His  reach,  that  feels  nor  joy  nor  grief, 

Since  both  derive  from  weakness  in  some  way. 

1  joy  because  the  quails  come;  would  not  joy 
Could  I  bring  quails  here  when  I  have  a  mind : 

This  Quiet,  all  it  hath  a  mind  to,  doth. 

’Esteemeth  stars  the  outposts  of  its  couch, 

But  never  spends  much  thought  nor  care  that  way. 

It  may  look  up,  work  up, — the  worse  for  those 
It  works  on  !  ’Careth  but  for  Setebos 
The  many-handed  as  a  cuttle-fish, 

Who,  making  Himself  feared  thro’  what  He  does, 

Looks  up,  first,  and  perceives  he  cannot  soar 


THE  EXISTENCE  AND  IDEA  OF  GOD 


H5 


To  what  is  quiet  and  hath  happy  life; 

Next  looks  clown  here,  and  out  of  very  spite 
Makes  this  a  bauble-world  to  ape  yon  real, 

These  good  things  to  match  those  as  hips  do  grapes. 
’Tis  solace  making  baubles,  ay,  and  sport. 

Himself  peeped  late,  eyed  Prosper  at  his  books 
Careless  and  lofty,  lord  now  of  the  isle : 

Cexed,  ’stitched  a  book  of  broad  leaves,  arrow-shaped 
Wrote  thereon,  he  knows  what,  prodigious  words; 

Has  peeled  a  wand  and  called  it  by  a  name; 

Weareth  at  whiles  for  an  enchanter’s  robe  • 

The  eyed  skin  of  a  supple  oncelot; 

And  hath  an  ounce  sleeker  than  youngling  mole, 

A  four-legged  serpent  he  makes  cower  and  couch, 
Now  snarl,  now  hold  its  breath  and  mind  his  eye, 

And  saith  she  is  Miranda  and  my  wife: 

’Keeps  for  his  Ariel  a  tall  pouch-bill  crane 
He  bids  go  wade  for  fish  and  straight  disgorge; 

Also  a  sea-beast,  lumpish,  which  he  snared, 

Blinded  the  eyes  of,  and  brought  somewhat  tame, 

And  split  its  toe-webs,  and  now  pens  the  drudge 
In  a  hole  o’  the  rock,  and  calls  him  Caliban; 

A  bitter  heart  that  bides  its  time  and  bites. 

’Plays  thus  at  being  Prosper  in  a  way, 

Taketh  his  mirth  with  make-believes :  so  He. 

His  dam  held  that  the  Quiet  made  all  things 
Which  Setebos  vexed  only :  ’holds  not  so. 

Who  made  them  weak,  meant  weakness  Pie  might  vex. 
Had  He  meant  other,  while  His  hand  was  in. 

Why  not  make  horny  eyes  no  thorn  could  prick, 

Or  plate  my  scalp  with  bone  against  the  snow, 

Or  overscale  my  flesh  ’neath  joint  and  joint, 

Like  an  ore’s  armour?  Ay, — so  spoil  His  sport! 

He  is  the  One  now:  only  He  doth  all. 

’Saith,  He  may  like,  perchance,  what  profits  Him. 

Ay,  himself  loves  what  does  him  good;  but  why? 

’Gets  good  no  otherwise.  This  blinded  beast 
Loves  whoso  places  flesh-meat  on  his  nose, 


n6  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


But,  had  he  eyes,  would  want  no  help,  but  hate 
Or  love,  just  as  it  liked  him:  He  hath  eyes. 

Also  it  pleaseth  Setebos  to  work, 

Use  all  His  hands,  and  exercise  much  craft, 

By  no  means  for  the  love  of  what  is  worked. 

’Tasteth,  himself,  no  finer  good  i’  the  world 
When  all  goes  right,  in  this  safe  summer-time, 

And  he  wants  little,  hungers,  aches  not  much, 

Than  trying  what  to  do  with  wit  and  strength. 

’Falls  to  make  something;  ’piled  yon  pile  of  turfs, 

And  squared  and  stuck  there  squares  of  soft  white  chalk. 
And,  with  a  fish-tooth,  scratched  a  moon  on  each, 

And  set  up  endwise  certain  spikes  of  tree, 

And  crowned  the  whole  with  a  sloth’s  skull  a-top, 

Found  dead  i’  the  woods,  too  hard  for  one  to  kill. 

No  use  at  all  i’  the  work,  for  work’s  sole  sake; 

’Shall  some  day  knock  it  down  again:  so  He. 

’Saith  He  is  terrible :  watch  His  feats  in  proof ! 

One  hurricane  will  spoil  six  good  months’  hope. 

He  hath  a  spite  against  me,  that  I  know. 

Just  as  He  favours  Prosper,  who  knows  why? 

So  it  is,  all  the  same,  as  well  I  find. 

’Wove  wattles  half  the  winter,  fenced  them  firm 
With  stone  and  stake  to  stop  she-tortoises 
Crawling  to  lay  their  eggs  here :  well,  one  wave, 

Feeling  the  foot  of  Him  upon  its  neck, 

Gaped  as  a  snake  does,  lolled  out  its  large  tongue, 

And  licked  the  whole  labour  flat ;  so  much  for  spite ! 
’Saw  a  ball  flame  down  late  (yonder  it  lies) 

Where,  half  an  hour  before,  I  slept  i’  the  shade : 

Often  they  scatter  sparkles :  there  is  force  ! 

’Dug  up  a  newt  He  may  have  envied  once 
And  turned  to  stone,  shut  up  inside  a  stone. 

Please  Him  and  hinder  this? — What  Prosper  does? 

Aha,  if  he  would  tell  me  how.  Not  he ! 

There  is  the  sport :  discover  how  or  die ! 

All  need  not  die,  for  of  the  things  o’  the  isle 
Some  flee  afar,  some  dive,  some  run  up  trees; 

Those  at  His  mercy, — why,  they  please  Him  most 


THE  EXISTENCE  AND  IDEA  OF  GOD 

When  .  .  .  when  .  .  .  well,  never  try  the  same  way 
Repeat  what  act  has  pleased,  He  may  grow  wroth. 

You  must  not  know  His  ways,  and  play  Him  off, 

Sure  of  the  issue.  ’Doth  the  like  himself : 

’Spareth  a  squirrel  that  it  nothing  fears 
But  steals  the  nut  from  underneath  my  thumb, 

And  when  I  threat,  bites  stoutly  in  defence : 

’Spareth  an  urchin  that  contrariwise. 

Curls  up  into  a  ball,  pretending  death 

For  fright  at  my  approach:  the  two  ways  please. 

But  what  would  move  my  choler  more  than  this, 

That  either  creature  counted  on  its  life 
Tomorrow,  next  day  and  all  days  to  come, 

Saying  forsooth  in  the  inmost  of  its  heart, 

“Because  he  did  so  yesterday  with  me, 

And  otherwise  with  such  another  brute, 

So  must  he  do  henceforth  and  always.”  Ay? 

’Would  teach  the  reasoning  couple  what  “must”  means 
’Doth  as  he  likes,  or  wherefore  Lord?  So  He. 

’Conceiveth  all  things  will  continue  thus, 

And  we  shall  have  to  live  in  fear  of  Him 

So  long  as  He  lives,  keeps  His  strength :  no  change, 

If  He  have  done  His  best,  make  no  new  world 
To  please  Him  more,  so  leave  off  watching  this, — 

If  He  surprise  not  even  the  Quiet’s  self 
Some  strange  day, — or,  suppose,  grow  into  it 
As  grubs  grow  butterflies :  else,  here  are  we, 

And  there  is  He,  and  nowhere  help  at  all. 

’Believeth  with  the  life  the  pain  shall  stop. 

His  dam  held  different,  that  after  death 
He  both  plagued  enemies  and  feasted  friends : 

Idly !  He  doth  His  worst  in  this  our  life, 

Giving  just  respite  lest  we  die  thro’  pain, 

Saving  last  pain  for  worst, — with  which,  an  end. 
Meanwhile,  the  best  way  to  escape  His  ire 
Is,  not  to  seem  too  happy.  ’Sees,  himself. 

Yonder  two  flies,  with  purple  films  and  pink, 

Bask  on  the  pompion-bell  above :  kills  both. 


ii  7 
twice  i 


n8  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


’Sees  two  black  painful  beetles  roll  their  ball 
On  head  and  tail  as  if  to  save  their  lives : 

’Moves  them  the  stick  away  they  strive  to  clear. 

Even  so,  ’would  have  him  misconceive,  suppose 
This  Caliban  strives  hard  and  ails  no  less, 

And  always,  above  all  else,  envies  Him; 

Wherefore  he  mainly  dances  on  dark  nights, 

Moans  in  the  sun,  gets  under  holes  to  laugh, 

And  never  speaks  his  mind  save  housed  as  now : 

Outside,  ’groans,  curses.  If  He  caught  me  here, 

O’erheard  this  speech,  and  asked  “What  chucklest  at?” 

’Would  to  appease  Him,  cut  a  finger  off, 

Or  of  my  three  kid  yearlings  burn  the  best, 

Or  let  the  toothsome  apples  rot  on  tree, 

Or  push  my  tame  beast  for  the  ore  to  taste : 

While  myself  lit  a  fire,  and  made  a  song 
And  sung  it,  “What  I  hate ,  be  consecrate 
To  celebrate  Thee  and  Thy  state ,  no  mate 
For  Thee;  what  see  for  envy  in  poor  me?” 

Hoping  the  while,  since  evils  sometimes  mend, 

Warts  rub  away  and  sores  are  cured  with  slime, 

That  some  strange  day,  will  either  the  Quiet  catch 
And  conquer  Setebos,  or  likelier  He 
Decrepit  may  doze,  doze,  as  good  as  die. 

[What,  what?  A  curtain  o’er  the  world  at  once! 

Crickets  stop  hissing;  not  a  bird — or,  yes, 

There  scuds  His  raven,  that  hath  told  Him  all ! 

It  was  fool’s  play,  this  prattling !  Ha !  The  wind 
Shoulders  the  pillared  dust,  death’s  house  o’  the  move, 

And  fast  invading  fires  begin !  White  blaze — 

A  tree’s  head  snaps — and  there,  there,  there,  there,  there, 
His  thunder  follows!  Fool  to  gibe  at  Him! 

So !  ’Lieth  flat  and  loveth  Setebos  ! 

’Maketh  his  teeth  meet  thro’  his  upper  lip, 

Will  let  those  quails  fly,  will  not  eat  this  month 
One  little  mess  of  whelks,  so  he  may  ’scape !] 


THE  EXISTENCE  AND  IDEA  OF  GOD 


1 19 


SAUL 

Robert  Browning 
xiii 

“Yea,  my  King,” 

I  began — “thou  dost  well  in  rejecting  mere  comforts  that 
spring 

From  the  mere  mortal  life  held  in  common  by  man  and  by 
brute : 

In  our  flesh  grows  the  branch  of  this  life,  in  our  soul  it  bears 
fruit. 

Thou  hast  marked  the  slow  rise  of  the  tree, — how  its  stem 
trembled  first 

Till  it  passed  the  kid's  lip,  the  stag's  antler;  then  safely  out¬ 
burst 

The  fan-branches  all  round;  and  thou  mindest  when  these  too, 
in  turn 

Broke  a-bloom  and  the  palm  tree  seemed  perfect :  yet  more  was 
to  learn, 

E’en  the  good  that  comes  in  with  the  palm-fruit.  Our  dates 
shall  we  slight, 

When  their  juice  brings  a  cure  for  all  sorrow?  or  care  for 
the  plight 

Of  the  palm’s  self  whose  slow  growth  produced  them?  Not 
so  !  stem  and  branch  # 

Shall  decay,  nor  be  known  in  their  place,  while  the  palm-wine 
shall  staunch 

Every  wound  of  man’s  spirit  in  winter.  I  pour  thee  such 
wine. 

Leave  the  flesh  to  the  fate  it  was  fit  for !  the  spirit  be  thine  ! 

By  the  spirit,  when  age  shall  o’ercome  thee,  thou  still  shalt 
enjoy 

More  indeed,  than  at  first  when,  inconscious,  the  life  of  a 
boy. 

Crush  that  life,  and  behold  its  wine  running!  Each  deed  thou 
hast  done 

Dies,  revives,  goes  to  work  in  the  world;  until  e’en  as  the 
sun 


120  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

Looking  down  on  the  earth,  tho’  clouds  spoil  him,  tho’  tempests 
efface, 

Can  find  nothing  his  own  deed  produced  not,  must  everywhere 
trace 

The  results  of  his  past  summer-prime, — so,  each  ray  of  thy 
will. 

Every  flash  of  thy  passion  and  prowess,  long  over,  shall  thrill 

Thy  whole  people,  the  countless,  with  ardour,  till  they  too  give 
forth 

A  like  cheer  to  their  sons :  who  in  turn,  fill  the  South  and  the 
North 

With  the  radiance  thy  deed  was  the  germ  of.  Carouse  in  the 
past ! 

But  the  license  of  age  has  its  limit;  thou  diest  at  last. 

As  the  lion  when  age  dims  his  eyeball,  the  rose  at  her  height, 

So  with  man — so  his  power  and  his  beauty  forever  take  flight. 

No !  Again  a  long  draught  of  my  soul-wine  !  Look  forth  o’er 
the  years ! 

Thou  hast  done  now  with  eyes  for  the  actual ;  begin  with  the 
seer’s  ! 

Is  Saul  dead?  In  the  depth  of  the  vale  make  his  tomb — bid 
arise 

A  gray  mountain  of  marble  heaped  four-square,  till,  built  to 
the  skies, 

Let  it  mark  where  the  great  First  King  slumbers :  whose  fame 
would  ye  know  ? 

Up  above  see  the  rock’s  naked  face,  where  the  record  shall  go 

In  great  characters  cut  by  the  scribe, — Such  was  Saul,  so  he 
did ; 

With  the  sages  directing  the  work,  by  the  populace  chid, — 

For  not  half,  they’ll  affirm,  is  comprised  there  !  Which  fault 
to  amend, 

In  the  grove  with  his  kind  grows  the  cedar,  whereon  they  shall 
spend 

(See,  in  tablets  ’tis  level  before  them)  their  praise,  and  record 

With  the  gold  of  the  graver,  Saul’s  story, — the  statesman’s 
great  word 

Side  by  side  with  the  poet’s  sweet  comment.  The  river’s  a-wave 

With  smooth  paper-reeds  grazing  each  other  when  prophet- 
winds  rave : 


THE  -EXISTENCE  AND  IDEA  OF  GOD  121 

So  the  pen  gives  unborn  generations  their  due  and  their  part 
In  thy  being !  Then,  first  of  the  mighty,  thank  God  that  thou 
art !” 

XIV 


And  behold  while  I  sang  .  .  .  but  O  Thou  who  didst  grant 
me  that  day, 

And  before  it  not  seldom  hast  granted  Thy  help  to  essay, 

Carry  on  and  complete  an  adventure, — my  shield  and  my  sword 
In  that  act  where  my  soul  was  Thy  servant,  Thy  word  was 
my  word, — 

Still  be  with  me,  who  then  at  the  summit  of  human  endeavour 
And  scaling  the  highest,  man’s  thought  could,  gazed  hopeless 
as  ever 

On  the  new  stretch  of  heaven  above  me — till,  mighty  to  save, 
Just  one  lift  of  Thy  hand  cleared  that  distance — God’s  throne 
from  man’s  grave ! 

Let  me  tell  out  my  tale  to  its  ending — my  voice  to  my  heart 
Which  can  scarce  dare  believe  in  what  marvels  last  night  I  took 
part, 

As  this  morning  I  gather  the  fragments,  alone  with  my  sheep, 
And  still  fear  lest  the  terrible  glory  evanish  like  sleep ! 

For  I  wake  in  the  gray  dewy  covert,  while  Hebron  upheaves 
The  dawn  struggling  with  night  on  his  shoulder,  and  Kidron 
retrieves 

Slow  the  damage  of  yesterday’s  sunshine. 

« 

xv 

I  say  then, — my  song 
While  I  sang  thus,  assuring  the  monarch,  and,  ever  more  strong, 
Made  a  proffer  of  good  to  console  him — he  slowly  resumed 
His  old  motions  and  habitudes  kingly.  The  right  hand  replumed 
His  black  locks  to  their  wonted  composure,  adjusted  the  swathes 
Of  his  turban,  and  see — the  huge  sweat  that  his  countenance 
bathes, 

He  wipes  off  with  the  robe ;  and  he  girds  now  his  loins  as  of 
yore, 

And  feels  slow  for  the  armlets  of  price,  with  the  clasp  set  before. 
He  is  Saul,  ye  remember  in  glory, — ere  error  had  bent 


122  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  -POETRY 


The  broad  brow  from  the  daily  communion;  and  still,  tho’ 
much  spent 

Be  the  life  and  bearing  that  front  you,  the  same,  God  did  choose, 
To  receive  what  a  man  may  waste,  desecrate,  never  quite  lose. 
So  sank  he  along  by  the  tent-prop,  till,  stayed  by  the  pile 
Of  his  armour  and  war-cloak  and  garments,  he  leaned  there 
awhile, 

And  sat  out  my  singing, — one  arm  round  the  tent-prop,  to  raise 
His  bent  head,  and  the  other  hung  slack — till  I  touched  on  the 
praise 

I  foresaw  from  all  men  in  all  time,  to  the  man  patient  there ; 
And  thus  ended,  the  harp  falling  forward.  Then  first  I  was 
’ware 

That  he  sat,  as  I  say,  with  my  head  just  above  his  vast  knees 
Which  were  thrust  out  each  side  around  me,  like  oak  roots 
which  please 

To  encircle  a  lamb  when  it  slumbers.  I  looked  up  to  know 
If  the  best  I  could  do  had  brought  solace :  he  spoke  not,  but 
slow 

Lifted  up  the  hand  slack  at  his  side,  till  he  laid  it  with  care 
Soft  and  grave,  but  in  mild  settled  will,  on  my  brow :  thro’  my 
hair 

The  large  fingers  were  pushed,  and  he  bent  back  my  head,  with 
kind  power — 

All  my  face  back,  intent  to  peruse  it,  as  men  do  a  flower. 

Thus  held  he  me  there  with  his  great  eyes  that  scrutinized 
mine — 

And  oh,  all  my  heart  how  it  loved  him !  but  where  was  the 
sign  ? 

I  yearned — “Could  I  help  thee,  my  father,  inventing  a  bliss, 

I  would  add,  to  that  life  of  the  past,  both  the  future  and 
this ; 

I  would  give  thee  new  life  altogether,  as  good,  ages  hence, 
As  this  moment, — had  love  but  the  warrant,  love’s  heart  to 
dispense !” 


xvi 

Then  the  truth  came  upon  me.  No  harp  more — no  song  more] 
outbroke — 


THE  EXISTENCE  AND  IDEA  OF  GOD 


123 


XVII 

“I  have  gone  the  whole  round  of  creation :  I  saw  and  I  spoke ; 
I,  a  work  of  God’s  hand  for  that  purpose,  received  in  my  brain 
And  pronounced  on  the  rest  of  his  handwork — returned  him 
again 

His  creation’s  approval  or  censure :  I  spoke  as  I  saw, 
Reported,  as  man  may  of  God’s  work — all’s  love,  yet  all’s  law. 
Now  I  lay  down  the  judgeship  he  lent  me.  Each  faculty  tasked 
To  perceive  him  has  gained  an  abyss,  where  a  dewdrop  was 
asked. 

Have  I  knowledge  ?  confounded  it  shrivels  at  Wisdom  laid 
bare. 

Have  I  forethought?  how  purblind,  how  blank,  to  the  Infinite 
Care ! 

Do  I  task  any  faculty  highest,  to  image  success? 

I  but  open  my  eyes, — and  perfection,  no  more  and  no  less, 

In  the  kind  I  imagined,  full-fronts  me,  and  God  is  seen  God 
In  the  star,  in  the  stone,  in  the  flesh,  in  the  soul  and  the  clod. 
And  thus  looking  within  and  around  me,  I  ever  renew 
(With  that  stoop  of  the  soul  which  in  bending  upraises  it  too) 
The  submission  of  man’s  nothing-perfect  to  God’s  all  complete, 
As  by  each  new  obeisance  in  spirit,  I  climb  to  His  feet. 

Yet  with  all  this  abounding  experience,  this  deity  known, 

I  shall  dare  to  discover  some  province,  some  gift  of  my  own. 
There’s  a  faculty  pleasant  to  exercise,  hard  to  hoodwink, 

I  am  fain  to  keep  still  in  abeyance  (I  laugh  as  I  think), 

Lest,  insisting  to  claim  and  parade  in  it,  wot  ye,  I  worst 
E’en  the  Giver  in  one  gift. — Behold,  I  could  love  if  I  durst ! 

But  I  sink  the  pretension  as  fearing  a  man  may  o’ertake 
God’s  own  speed  in  the  one  way  of  love ;  I  abstain  for  love’s 
sake. 

— What,  my  soul  ?  see  thus  far  and  no  farther  ?  when  doors 
great  and  small, 

Nine-and-ninety  flew  ope  at  our  touch,  should  the  hundredth 
appal  ? 

In  the  least  things  have  faith,  yet  distrust  in  the  greatest  of  all  ? 
Do  I  find  love  so  full  in  my  nature,  God’s  ultimate  gift, 

That  I  doubt  His  own  love  can  compete  with  it?  Here,  the 
parts  shift? 


124  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

Here,  the  creature  surpass  the  creator, — the  end,  what  began? 
Would  I  fain  in  my  impotent  yearning  do  all  for  this  man, 
And  dare  doubt  He  alone  shall  not  help  him,  who  yet  alone  can  ? 
Would  it  ever  have  entered  my  mind,  the  bare  will,  much  less 
power, 

To  bestow  on  this  Saul  what  I  sang  of,  the  marvellous  dower 
Of  the  life  he  was  gifted  and  filled  with?  to  make  such  a  soul, 
Such  a  body,  and  then  such  an  earth  for  insphering  the  whole? 
And  doth  it  not  enter  my  mind  (as  my  warm  tears  attest), 
These  good  things  being  given,  to  go  on,  and  give  one  more, 
the  best? 

Ay,  to  save  and  redeem  and  restore  him,  maintain  at  the  height 
This  perfection, — succeed  with  life’s  dayspring,  death’s  minute 
of  night? 

Interpose  at  the  difficult  minute,  snatch  Saul  the  mistake, 

Saul  the  failure,  the  ruin  he  seems  now, — and  bid  him  awake 
From  the  dream,  the  probation,  the  prelude,  to  find  himself  set 
Clear  and  safe  in  new  light  and  new  life, — a  new  harmony  yet 
To  be  run  and  continued,  and  ended— who  knows? — or  endure! 
The  man  taught  enough  by  life's  dream,  of  the  rest  to  make 
sure ; 

By  the  pain-throb,  triumphantly  winning  intensified  bliss, 

And  the  next  world’s  reward  and  repose,  by  the  struggles  in 
this. 


XVIII 

“I  believe  it !  ’Tis  Thou,  God,  that  givest,  ’tis  I  who  receive : 

In  the  first  is  the  last,  in  Thy  will  is  my  power  to  believe. 

All’s  one  gift:  Thou  canst  grant  it,  moreover,  as  prompt  to 
my  prayer, 

As  I  breathe  out  this  breath,  as  I  open  these  arms  to  the  air. 

From  Thy  will  stream  the  worlds,  life  and  nature,  Thy  dread 
Sabaoth : 

I  will  ? — the  mere  atoms  despise  me !  Why  am  I  not  loath 

To  look  that,  even  that  in  the  face  too?  Why  is  it  I  dare 

Think  but  lightly  of  such  impuissance  ?  What  stops  my  despair  ? 

This; — ’tis  not  what  man  Does  which  exalts  him,  but  what  man 
Would  do! 

See  the  King — I  would  help  him,  but  cannot,  the  wishes  fall 
through. 


THE  EXISTENCE  AND  IDEA  OF  GOD 


125 

Could  I  wrestle  to  raise  him  from  sorrow,  grow  poor  to  enrich, 
To  fill  up  his  life,  starve  my  own  out,  I  would — knowing  which, 
I  know  that  my  service  is  perfect.  Oh,  speak  thro’  me  now ! 
Would  I  suffer  for  him  that  I  love?  So  wouldst  Thou — so  wilt 
Thou ! 

So  shall  crown  Thee  the  topmost,  ineffablest.  uttermost  crown — 
And  Thy  love  fill  infinitude  wholly,  nor  leave  up  nor  down 
One  spot  for  the  creature  to  stand  in !  It  is  by  no  breath, 

Turn  of  eye,  wave  of  hand,  that  salvation  joins  issue  with 
death ! 

As  thy  love  is  discovered  almighty,  almighty  be  proved 
Thy  power,  that  exists  with  and  for  it,  of  being  Beloved ! 

He  who  did  most,  shall  bear  most;  the  strongest  shall  stand 
the  most  weak. 

’Tis  the  weakness  in  strength,  that  I  cry  for!  my  flesh,  that  1 
seek 

In  the  Godhead !  I  seek  and  I  find  it.  O  Saul,  it  shall  be 
A  Face  like  my  face  that  receives  thee;  a  Man  like  to  me, 
Thou  shalt  love  and  be  loved  by,  forever :  a  Hand  like  this 
hand 

Shall  throw  open  the  gates  of  new  life  to  thee !  See  the  Christ 
stand !” 


XIX 

I  know  not  too  well  how  I  found  my  way  home  in  the  night. 
There  were  witnesses,  cohorts  about  me,  to  left  and  to  right, 
Angels,  powers,  the  unuttered,  unseen,  the  alive,  the  aware : 

I  repressed,  I  got  thro’  them  as  hardly,  as  strugglingly  there, 
As  a  runner  beset  by  the  populace  famished  for  news — 

Life  or  death.  The  whole  earth  was  awakened,  hell  loosed  with 
her  crews; 

And  the  stars  of  night  beat  with  emotion,  and  tingled  and  shot 
Out  in  fire  the  strong  pain  of  pent  knowledge :  but  I  fainted  not, 
For  the  Hand  still  impelled  me  at  once  and  supported,  suppressed 
All  the  tumult,  and  quenched  it  with  quiet,  and  holy  behest, 
Till  the  rapture  was  shut  in  itself,  and  the  earth  sank  to  rest 


126  THE  WORLD'S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


REALITY 

I 

Sir  Aubrey  de  Vere 

Love  thy  God  and  love  Him  only : 

And  thy  breast  will  ne’er  be  lonely. 

In  that  one  great  Spirit  meet 
All  things  mighty,  grave  and  sweet. 

Vainly  strives  the  soul  to  mingle 
With  a  being  of  our  kind: 

Vainly  heart  with  our  hearts  are  twined: 
For  the  deepest  still  is  single. 

An  impalpable  resistance 

Holds  like  nature’s  still  at  distance. 

Mortal !  Love  that  Holy  One  ! 

Or  dwell  for  aye  alone. 


From  WOODNOTES 

Ralph  Waldo  Emerson 

‘All  the  forms  are  fugitive, 

But  the  substances  survive. 

Ever  fresh  the  broad  creation, 

A  divine  improvisation, 

From  the  heart  of  God  proceeds, 

A  single  will,  a  million  deeds. 

Once  slept  the  world  an  egg  of  stone, 

And  pulse,  and  sound,  and  light  was  none ; 
And  God  said,  “Throb !”  and  there  was  motion 
And  the  vast  mass  became  vast  ocean. 
Onward  and  on,  the  eternal  Pan, 

Who  layeth  the  world’s  incessant  plan, 
Halteth  never  in  one  shape, 

But  forever  doth  escape, 

Like  wave  or  flame,  into  new  forms 
Of  gem,  and  air,  of  plants,  and  worms. 

I,  that  today  am  a  pine, 


THE  EXISTENCE  AND  IDEA  OF  GOD 


12/ 


Yesterday  was  a  bundle  of  grass. 

He  is  free  and  libertine, 

Pouring  of  his  power  the  wine 
To  every  age,  to  every  race; 

Unto  every  race  and  age 
He  emptieth  the  beverage; 

Unto  each  and  unto  all, 

Maker  and  original. 

The  world  is  the  ring  of  his  spells, 

And  the  plan  of  his  miracles. 

As  he  giveth  to  all  to  drink, 

Thus  or  thus  they  are  and  think. 

With  one  drop  sheds  form  and  feature; 

With  the  next  a  special  nature; 

The  third  adds  heat’s  indulgent  spark; 

The  fourth  gives  light  which  eats  the  dark; 
Into  the  fifth  himself  he  flings, 

And  conscious  Law  is  King  of  kings. 

As  the  bee  through  the  garden  ranges, 

From  world  to  world  the  godhead  changes; 
As  the  sheep  go  feeding  in  the  waste, 

From  form  to  form  He  maketh  haste; 

This  vault  which  glows  immense  with  light 
Is  the  inn  where  he  lodges  for  a  night. 
What  recks  such  Traveller  if  the  bowers 
Which  bloom  and  fade  like  meadow  flowers 
A  bunch  of  fragrant  lilies  be, 

Or  the  stars  of  eternity? 

Alike  to  him  the  better,  the  worse, — 

The  glowing  angel,  the  outcast  corse. 

Thou  metest  him  by  centuries, 

And  lo !  he  passes  like  the  breeze ; 

Thou  seek’st  in  glade  and  galaxy, 

He  hides  in  pure  transparency; 

Thou  askest  in  fountains  and  in  fires, 

He  is  the  essence  that  inquires. 

He  is  the  axis  of  the  star ; 

He  is  the  sparkle  of  the  spar ; 

He  is  the  heart  of  every  creature; 

He  is  the  meaning  of  each  feature ; 


128  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


And  his  mind  is  the  sky, 

Than  all  it  holds  more  deep,  more  high/ 


THE  BOHEMIAN  HYMN 

Ralph  Waldo  Emerson 

In  many  forms  we  try 
To  utter  God’s  infinity, 

But  the  boundless  hath  no  form, 
And  the  Universal  Friend 
Doth  as  far  transcend 
An  angel  as  a  worm. 

The  great  Idea  baffles  wit, 
Language  falters  under  it, 

It  leaves  the  learned  in  the  lurch ; 
No  art,  nor  power,  nor  toil  can  find 
The  measure  of  the  eternal  Mind, 
Nor  hymn,  nor  prayer,  nor  church. 


THE  LIVING  GOD 

Charlotte  Perkins  Gilman 

The  Living  God.  The  God  that  made  the  world 
Made  it  and  stood  aside  to  watch  and  wait. 
Arranging  a  predestined  plan 
To  save  the  erring  soul  of  man — 

Undying  destiny — unswerving  fate. 

I  see  His  hand  in  the  path  of  life, 

His  law  to  doom  and  save, 

His  love  divine  in  the  hopes  that  shine 
Beyond  the  sinner’s  grave, 

His  care  that  sendeth  sun  and  rain, 

His  wisdom  giving  rest, 

His  price  of  sin  that  we  may  not  win 
The  heaven  of  the  blest. 


THE  EXISTENCE  AND  IDEA  OF  GOD  129 

Not  near  enough  !  Not  clear  enough  ! 

O  God,  come  nearer  still ! 

I  long  for  thee  !  Be  strong  for  me ! 

Teach  me  to  know  Thy  will ! 

The  Living  God.  The  God  that  makes  the  world, 

Makes  it — -is  making  it  in  all  its  worth; 

His  spirit  speaking  sure  and  slow 
In  the  real  universe  we  know, — * 

God  living  in  the  earth. 

I  feel  His  breath  in  the  blowing  wind. 

His  pulse  in  the  swinging  sea, 

And  the  sunlit  sod  is  the  breast  of  God 
Whose  strength  we  feel  and  see. 

His  tenderness  in  the  springing  grass, 

His  beauty  in  the  flowers, 

His  living  love  in  the  sun  above, — 

All  here,  and  near,  and  ours ! 

Not  near  enough  !  NQt  clear  enough  ! 

O  God,  come  nearer  still ! 

I  long  for  Thee  !  Be  strong  for  me  ! 

Teach  me  to  know  thy  will ! 

The  Living  God.  The  God  that  is  the  world. 

The  world?  The  world  is  man — the  work  of  man. 

Then — dare  I  follow  what  I  see  ? — ■. 

Then — By  Thy  Glory — it  must  be 
That  we  are  in  thy  plan ! 

That  strength  divine  in  the  work  we  do  ? 

That  love  in  our  mothers’  eyes  ? 

That  wisdom  clear  in  our  thinking  here? 

That  power  to  help  us  rise? 

God  in  the  daily  work  we’ve  done, 

In  the  daily  path  we’ve  trod? 

Stand  still,  my  heart,  for  I  am  a  part — 

I  too — of  the  Living  God ! 

Ah,  clear  as  light !  As  near  !  As  bright ! 

O  God  !  My  God !  My  own  ! 

Command  thou  me  !  I  stand  for  thee  ! 

And  I  do  not  stand  alone ! 


130  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


BRAND  SPEAKS 

Hendrik  Ibsen 

Translated  by  C.  H.  Herford 

As  Catholics  make  of  the  Redeemer 
A  baby  at  the  breast,  so  ye 
Make  God  a  dotard  and  a  dreamer, 
Verging-  on  second  infancy. 

And  as  the  Pope  on  Peter’s  throne 
Calls  little  but  his  keys  his  own, 

So  to  the  Church  ye  would  confine 
The  world-wide  realm  of  the  Divine ; 
Twixt  Life  and  Doctrine  set  a  sea, 
Nowise  concern  yourselves  to  BE. 

Bliss  for  your  souls  ye  would  receive 
Not  utterly  and  wholly  LIVE. 

Ye  need  such  feebleness  to  brook, 

A  God  who’ll  through  his  fingers  look, 
Who  like  yourselves,  is  hoary  grown, 

And  keeps  a  cap  for  his  bald  crown. 
Mine  is  another  kind  of  God ! 

Mine  is  a  storm,  where  thine’s  a  lull ; 
Implacable  where  thine’s  a  clod, 

All-loving  there,  where  thine  is  dull ; 

And  He  is  young  like  Hercules, 

No  hoary  sipper  of  life’s  lees ! 

His  voice  rang  through  the  dazzled  night 
When  He,  within  the  burning  wood 
By  Moses  upon  Horeb’s  height 
As  by  a  pygmy’s  pygmy  stood. 

In  Gibeon’s  vale  He  stay’d  the  sun, 

And  wonders  without  end  would  do, 
Were  not  the  age  grown  sick — like  you. 
Nothing  that’s  new  do  I  demand; 

For  Everlasting  Right  I  stand. 

It  is  not  for  a  church  I  cry, 
ft  is  not  dogmas  I  defend; 


THE  EXISTENCE  AND  IDEA  OF  GOD 


131 

Day  dawn’d  on  both,  and  possibly. 

Day  may  on  both  of  them  descend. 

What’s  made  has  “finis”  for  its  brand; 

Of  moth  and  worm  it  feels  the  flaw. 

And  then,  by  nature  and  by  law, 

Is  for  an  embyro  thrust  aside. 

But  there  is  One  that  shall  abide; — 

The  Spirit,  that  was  never  born, 

That  in  the  world’s  fresh  gladsome  Morn 
Was  rescued  when  it  seemed  forlorn, 

That  built  with  valiant  faith  a  road 
Whereby  from  Flesh  it  climbed  to  God. 

Now  but  in  shreds  and  scraps  is  dealt 
The  Spirit  we  have  faintly  felt; 

But  from  these  scraps  and  from  these  shreds, 

These  headless  hands  and  handless  heads, 

These  torso-stumps  of  soul  and  thought, 

A  Man  complete  and  whole  shall  grow, 

And  God,  His  glorious  child  shall  know. 

His  heir,  the  Adam  that  he  wrought ! 


From  THE  TEST  OF  MANHOOD 
George  Meredith 

In  fellowship  Religion  has  its  founts; 

The  solitary  his  own  God  reveres: 

Ascend  no  sacred  Mounts 
Our  hungers  or  our  fears. 

As  only  for  the  numbers  Nature’s  care 

Is  shown,  and  she  the  personal  nothing  heeds, 

So  to  Divinity  the  spring  of  prayer 

From  brotherhood  the  one  way  upward  leads. 

Like  the  sustaining  air 

Are  both  for  flowers  and  weeds : 

But  he  who  claims  in  spirit  to  be  flower 
Will  find  them  both  an  air  that  doth  devour. 


THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


THE  INNER  LIGHT 
Frederick  William  Henry  Myers 

Lo,  if  some  pen  should  write  upon  your  rafter 
MENE  and  MENE  in  the  folds  of  flame, 

Think  you  could  any  memories  thereafter 
Wholly  retrace  the  couplet  as  it  came? 

i 

Lo,  if  some  strange,  intelligible  thunder 
Sang  to  the  earth  the  secret  of  a  star 

Scarce  could  ye  catch,  for  terror  and  for  wonder, 
Shreds  of  the  slory  that  was  pealed  so  far. 

Scarcely  I  catch  the  words  of  his  revealing, 

Hardly  I  hear  Llim,  dimly  understand, 

Only  the  Power  that  is  within  me  pealing 
Lives  on  my  lips  and  beckons  to  my  hand. 

Whoso  has  felt  the  Spirit  of  the  Highest 
Cannot  confound  nor  doubt  Him  nor  deny : 

Tea,  with  one  voice,  O,  world,  though  thou  deniest, 
Stand  thou  on  that  side,  for  on  this  am  I. 

Rather  the  earth  shall  doubt  when  her  retrieving 
Pours  in  the  rain  and  rushes  from  the  sod. 

Rather  than  he  for  whom  the  great  conceiving 
Stirs  in  his  soul  to  quicken  into  God. 

Ay,  though  thou  then  shouldst  strike  from  him  his  glory, 
Blind  and  tormented,  maddened  and  alone, 

Even  on  the  cross  would  he  maintain  his  story, 

Yes,  and  in  hell  would  whisper,  I  have  known. 


THE  EXISTENCE  AND  IDEA  OF  GOD 


133 


THE  REDEEMER 

William  Sharp  ( Fiona  Macleod) 

I  know  that  my  Redeemer  liveth — but  out  of  the  depths  of  time 
He  hath  not  called  to  me  yet.  But  from  th’  immeasurable  tracts 
That  widen  unending  to  where  beginneth  eternity 
Falleth  at  times  a  voice,  heart-thrilling,  soul-piercing,  life-giving, 
High  sometimes  and  clear,  as  a  lark  singing  in  a  holy  dawn, 
Hushed  and  far  off  again  as  a  dreaming  wave  upon  seas 
Lit  by  a  low  vast  moon,  and  windlessly  sleeping,  but  ever 
Sweet  with  a  human  love,  and  full  of  ineffable  yearning, 

And  crying  of  soul  unto  soul  from  infinite  deep  unto  deep. 

And  sometimes  I  look  and  gaze  out  upon  uttermost  darkness 
And  hear  the  wail  of  desolate  winds  moaning  around  the 
world — 

Till  darkness  shivers  to  light,  and  clashing  through  earth  and 
heaven 

I  hear  great  wings  make  music,  and  marvellous  thunderous 
songs 

Shout  ‘'Thy  Redeemer  liveth,  and  calleth  for  thee !” 


AN  INVOCATION 

John  Addington  Symonds 

To  God,  the  everlasting,  who  abides, 

One  Life  within  things  infinite  that  die : 

To  Him  whose  purity  no  thought  divides: 

Whose  breath  is  breathed  through  immensity. 

Him  neither  eye  hath  seen,  nor  ear  hath  heard; 
Yet  reason,  seated  in  the  souls  of  men, 

Though,  pondering  oft  on  the  mysterious  word, 
Hath  e’er  revealed  His  Being  to  mortal  ken. 

Earth  changes,  and  the  starry  wheels  roll  round; 
The  seasons  come  and  go,  moons  wax  and  wane; 
The  nations  rise  and  fall,  and  fill  the  ground, 
Storing  the  sure  results  of  joy  and  pain: 


134  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

Slow  knowledge  widens  toward  a  perfect  whole, 

From  that  first  man  who  named  the  heaven, 

To  him  who  weighs  the  planets  as  they  roll, 

And  knows  what  laws  to  every  life  are  given. 

Yet  He  appears  not.  Round  the  extreme  sphere 
Of  science  still  thin  ether  floats  unseen: 

Darkness  still  wraps  Him  round;  and  ignorant  fear 
Remains  of  what  we  are,  and  what  have  been. 

Only  we  feel  Him;  in  aching  dreams, 

Swift  intuitions,  pangs  of  keen  delight, 

The  sudden  vision  of  His  glory  seems 
To  sear  our  souls,  dividing  the  dull  night : 

And  we  yearn  toward  Llim.  Beauty,  Goodness,  Truth  ; 
These  three  are  one;  one  life,  one  thought,  one  being;, 
One  source  of  still  rejuvenescent  youth; 

One  light  for  endless  and  unclouded  seeing. 

Mere  symbols  we  perceive — the  dying  beauty. 

The  partial  truth  that  few  can  comprehend, 

The  vacillating  faith,  the  painful  duty, 

The  virtue  laboring  to  a  dubious  end. 

O  God,  unknown,  invisible,  secure, 

Whose  being  by  dim  resemblances  we  guess, 

Who  in  man’s  fear  and  love  abidest  sure, 

Whose  power  we  feel  in  darkness  and  confess  1 

Without  Thee  nothing  is,  and  Thou  art  nought 
When  on  Thy  substance  we  gaze  curiously : 

By  Thee  impalpable,  named  Force  and  Thought, 

The  solid  world  ceases  not  to  be. 


THE  EXISTENCE  AND  IDEA  OF  GOD 


135 


Lead  Thou  me,  God,  Law,  Reason,  Duty,  Life ! 
All  names  for  Thee  alike  are  vain  and  hollow — 
Lead  me,  for  I  will  follow  without  strife; 

Or,  if  I  strive,  still  must  I  blindly  follow. 


COMMUNION 
John  B.  Tabb 

Once  when  my  heart  was  passion  free 
To  learn  of  things  divine, 

The  soul  of  nature  suddenly 
Outpoured  itself  in  mine. 

I  held  the  secrets  of  the  deep 
And  of  the  heavens  above ; 

I  knew  the  harmonies  of  sleep, 

The  mysteries  of  love. 

And  for  a  moment’s  interval 
The  earth,  the  sky,  the  sea — 

My  soul  encompassed  each  and  all, 
As  now  they  encompass  me. 

To  one  in  all,  to  all  in  one — 

Since  love  the  work  began 

Life’s  everwidening  circles  run 
Revealing  God  to  man. 


GOD 

James  Cowden  Wallace 

There  is  an  Eye  that  never  sleeps 
Beneath  the  wing  of  night; 
There  is  an  ear  that  never  shuts 
When  sink  the  beams  of  light. 


136  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

There  is  an  arm  that  never  tires 
When  human  strength  gives  way; 

There  is  a  love  that  never  fails 
When  earthly  loves  decay. 

That  Eye  unseen  o’erwatcheth  all ; 

That  Arm  upholds  the  sky ; 

That  Ear  doth  hear  the  sparrows  call; 

That  Love  is  ever  nigh. 

From  THE  PASSAGE  TO  INDIA 
Walt  Whitman 

Ah,  more  than  any  priest,  O  soul,  we  too  believe  in  God, 

But  with  the  mystery  of  God  we  dare  not  dally. 

O  soul  thou  pleasest  me,  I  thee 

Sailing  these  seas  or  on  the  hills,  or  waking  in  the  night, 
Thoughts,  silent  thoughts,  of  Time  and  Space  and  Death,  like 
waters  flowing, 

Bear  me  indeed  as  through  the  regions  infinite, 

Whose  air  I  breathe,  whose  ripples  hear,  lave  me  all  over, 
Bathe  me,  O  God,  in  thee,  mounting  to  thee, 

I  and  my  soul  to  range  in  range  of  thee. 

O  Thou  transcendent, 

Nameless,  the  fibre  and  the  breath, 

Light  of  the  light,  shedding  forth  universes,  thou  center  of  them, 
Thou  mightier  center  of  the  true,  the  good,  the  loving, 

Thou  moral  spiritual  fountain — affection’s  source — thou  reservoir 
(O  pensive  soul  of  me — O  thirst  unsatisfied — waitest  not  there? 
Waitest  not  haply  for  us,  somewhere  there,  the  Comrade  per¬ 
fect?) 

Thou  pulse,  thou  motive  of  the  stars,  suns,  systems, 

That  circling,  move  in  order,  safe,  harmonious, 

Athwart  the  shapeless  vastnesses  of  Space ! 

How  should  I  think,  how  breathe  a  single  breath,  how  speak, 
If,  out  of  myself  I  could  not  launch,  to  those  superior  universes? 


THE  EXISTENCE  AND  IDEA  OF  GOD 


137 


Swiftly  I  shrivel  at  the  thought  of  God, 

At  Nature  and  its  wonders,  Time  and  Space  and  Death, 

But  that  I,  turning,  call  to  thee,  O  soul,  thou  actual  Me, 

And  lo,  thou  gently  masterest  the  orbs, 

Thou  matest  Time,  smilest  content  at  Death, 

And  fillest,  swellest  full,  the  vastnesses  of  Space. 

Greater  than  stars  or  suns, 

Bounding,  O  soul,  thou  journeyest  forth; 

What  love  than  thine  and  ours  could  wider  amplify? 

What  aspirations,  wishes,  outvie  thine  and  ours,  O  soul? 

What  dreams  of  the  ideal  ?  What  plan  of  purity,  perfection, 
strength  ? 

What  cheerful  willingness  for'others’  sake  to  give  up  all? 

For  others’  sake  to  suffer  all? 

Reckoning  ahead,  O  soul,  when  thou,  the  time  achieved. 

The  seas  all  crossed,  weather’d  the  capes,  the  voyage  done, 
Surrounded,  copest,  frontest  God,  yieldest,  the  aim  attained, 

As,  filled  with  friendship,  love  complete,  the  Elder  Brother  found, 
The  Younger  melts  in  fondness  in  his  arms. 

Passage  to  more  than  India ! 

Are  thy  wings  plumed  indeed  for  such  far  flights? 

O  soul,  voyagest  thou  indeed  on  voyages  like  these? 

Disportest  thou  on  waters  such  as  these? 

Soundest  below  the  Sanscrit  and  the  Vedas? 

Then  have  thy  bent  unleashed. 

Passage  to  you,  your  shores,  ye  aged  fierce  enigmas ! 

Passage  to  you,  to  mastership  of  you,  ye  strangling  problems ! 
You,  strewed  with  the  wrecks  of  skeletons  that,  living,  never 
reached  you. 

Passage  to  more  than  India ! 

O  secret  of  the  earth  and  sky ! 

Of  you,  O  waters  of  the  sea!  O  winding  creeks  and  rivers! 
Of  you,  O  woods  and  fields !  Of  you,  strong  mountains  of 
my  land ! 

Of  you,  O  prairies!  Of  you,  grey  rocks! 

O  morning  red  !  O  clouds  !  O  rain  and  snows  ! 

O  H.av  and  night,  passage  to  you ! 


138  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

O  sun  and  moon  and  all  you  stars!  Sirius  and  Jupiter! 
Passage  to  you  1 

Passage,  immediate  Passage !  the  blood  burns  in  my  veins ! 
Away,  O  soul,  hoist  instantly  the  anchor ! 

Cut  the  hawsers — haul  out — shake  out  every  sail ! 

Have  we  not  stood  here  like  trees  in  the  ground  long  enough? 
Have  we  not  grovel’d  here  long  enough,  eating  and  drinking  like 
mere  brutes? 

Have  we  not  darken’d  and  dazed  ourselves  with  books  long 
enough  ? 

Sail  forth — steer  for  the  deep  waters  only, 

Reckless,  O  soul,  exploring,  I  with  thee  and  thou  with  me, 

For  we  are  bound  where  mariner  has  not  yet  dared  to  go. 
And  we  will  risk  the  ship,  ourselves  and  all. 

O  my  brave  soul ! 

O  farther,  farther  sail ! 

O  daring  joy,  but  safe!  Are  they  not  all  the  seas  of  God? 

O  farther,  farther,  farther  sail ! 


THE  OVER-HEART 
John  Greenleaf  Whittier 

Above,  below,  in  sky  and  sod 

In  leaf  and  spar,  in  star  and  man, 
Well  might  the  wise  Athenian  scan 

The  geometric  signs  of  God, 

The  measured  order  of  his  plan. 

And  India’s  mystics  sang  aright 
Of  the  One  Life  pervading  all, — 

One  Being’s  tidal  rise  and  fall 

In  soul  and  form,  in  sound  and  sight, — 
Eternal  outflow  and  recall. 

God  is :  and  man  in  guilt  and  fear 
This  central  fact  of  Nature  owns; — 


THE  EXISTENCE  AND  IDEA  OF  GOD 


J39 


Kneels,  trembling,  by  his  altar-stones, 

And  darkly  dreams  the  ghastly  smear 
Of  blood  appeases  and  atones. 

Guilt  shapes  by  Terror:  deep  within 
The  human  heart  the  secret  lies 
Of  all  the  hideous  deities; 

And,  painted  on  a  ground  of  sin, 

The  fabled  gods  of  torment  rise ! 

And  what  is  He  ? — The  ripe  grain  nods, 
The  sweet  dews  fall,  the  flowers  blow; 
But  darker  signs  his  presence  show : 

The  earthquake  and  the  storm  are  God’s 
And  good  and  evil  interflow. 

O  hearts  of  love !  O  souls  that  turn 
Like  sunflowers  to  the  pure  and  best! 

To  you  the  truth  is  manifest: 

For  they  the  mind  of  Christ  discern 
Who  lean  like  John  upon  his  breast! 

In  him  of  whom  the  Sybil  told 

For  whom  the  prophet’s  heart  was  toned, 
Whose  need  the  sage  and  magian  owned, 

The  loving  heart  of  God  behold, 

The  hope  for  which  the  ages  groaned ! 

Fade,  pomp  of  dreadful  imagery 
Wherewith  mankind  have  deified 
Their  hate,  and  selfishness,  and  pride ! 

Let  the  scared  dreamer  wake  to  see 
The  Christ  of  Nazareth  at  his  side ! 

What  doth  that  holy  Guide  require? — 

No  rite  of  pain,  nor  gift  of  blood, 

But  man  a  kindly  brotherhood, 

Looking,  where  duty  is  desire, 

'  To  him,  the  beautiful  and  good. 


140  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

Gone  be  the  faithlessness  of  fear, 

And  let  the  pitying  heaven’s  sweet  rain 
Wash  out  the  altar’s  bloody  stain; 

The  law  of  Hatred  disappear, 

The  law  of  Love  alone  remain. 

How  fall  the  idols  false  and  grim ! — 

And,  Lo !  the  hideous  wreck  above 
The  emblems  of  the  Lamb  and  Dove ! 

Man  turns  from  God,  not  God  from  him; 

And  guilt,  in  suffering,  whispers  Love ! 

The  world  sits  at  the  feet  of  Christ, 
Unknowing,  blind  and  unconsoled; 

It  yet  shall  touch  his  garment’s  fold, 

And  feel  the  heavenly  Alchemist 
Transform  its  very  dust  to  gold. 

The  theme  befitting  angel  tongues 
Beyond  a  mortal’s  scope  has  grown. 

O  heart  of  mine,  with  reverence  own 
The  fulness  which  to  it  belongs, 

And  trust  the  unknown  for  the  known. 


ILLUSION 

Ella  Wheeler  Wilcox 

I 

God  and  I  in  space  alone 
And  nobody  else  in  view. 

“And  where  are  the  people,  O  Lord!”  I  said. 
“The  earth  below  and  the  sky  o’erhead 
And  the  dead  whom  once  I  knew?” 

“That  was  a  dream,”  God  smiled  and  said, 
“A  dream  that  seemed  to  be  true, 

There  were  no  people,  living  or  dead, 

There  was  no  earth  and  no  sky  o’erhead 
There  was  only  myself — and  you.” 


THE  EXISTENCE  AND  IDEA  OF  GOD 


“Why  do  I  feel  no  fear,”  I  asked, 

“Meeting  you  here  in  this  way, 

For  I  have  sinned  I  know  full  well, 

And  there  is  heaven  and  there  is  hell, 

And  is  this  the  judgment  day?” 

“Nay,  those  were  dreams,”  the  great  God  said, 
“Dreams  that  have  ceased  to  be. 

There  are  no  such  things  as  fear  or  sin, 
There  is  no  you — you  have  never  been — 
There  is  nothing  at  all  but  Me.” 


From  THE  EXCURSION 

William  Wordsworth 

A  curious  child,  who  dwelt  upon  a  tract 
Of  inland  ground,  applying  to  his  ear 
The  convolutions  of  a  smooth-lipped  shell ; 

To  which,  in  silence  hushed,  his  very  soul 
Listened  intensely;  and  his  countenance  soon 
Brightened  with  joy;  for  murmurings  from  within 
Were  heard,  sonorous  cadences!  whereby 
To  his  belief,  the  monitor  expressed 
Mysterious  union  with  his  native  sea. 

Even  in  such  a  shell  the  Universe  itself 
Is  to  the  ear  of  Faith :  and  there  are  times, 

I  doubt  not,  when  to  you  it  doth  impart 
Authentic  tidings  of  invisible  things; 

Of  ebb  and  flow  and  ever-during  power; 

And  central  peace,  subsisting  at  the  heart 
Of  endless  agitation. 


142  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


f.  TWENTIETH  CENTURY 


THE  SEEKER 

From  The  Fools’  Adventure 

Lascelles  Abercrombie 

I  have  achieved.  That  which  the  lonely  man 
Spoke  of,  core  of  the  world,  that  Self,  I  know. 
Like  one  small  pool  to  the  reach  of  Heaven,  I 
Am  open  to  a  vastness.  Hearken,  thou, 

Do  I  not  know  thee  right  ?  Thou  art  the  deep 
Whereunto  all  things  yearn  unwearyingly. 

Some  unaware,  some  hating  that  they  yearn, 

But  all  into  a  stillness,  into  Thee, 

Falling  at  length,  and  their  unrest  is  done, 

Until  again  thou  blurt  them  out  of  thee, 

Out  of  the  middle  to  the  rind.  And  yet 
Not  them,  but  piecemeal  what  they  were. 
New-fangled  into  other  companies. 

It  is  as  if,  not  only  once,  far  off, 

Aloof  from  place  and  being  I  had  watched 
The  spell  betwixt  two  happenings  end  again; — 
The  dark’s  distress,  slow  qualms  mastering  it, 
Blind  thrills,  and  last,  the  sudden  pang  of  light. 
Methinks,  plainly  as  I’ve  felt  earth’s  swoon 
Wince  at  the  touch  of  spring,  awakening  her, 

The  peace,  thy  region,  shudder  I  have  felt 
When  with  it  meddles  thy  new  imagining; 

And  in  the  smooth  element,  ruffling,  grows  a  throb, 
Marring  with  its  strong  rhythm  the  prone  calm, 
Beat  of  the  fresh  beginning  of  an  order ; 

One  settled  eddy  at  last,  whose  scouring  kirtles 
Gather  to  substance  and  perplexed  shape 
To  thickening  spots  of  coarse,  and  curds  of  fire. 
Again  within  the  unform’d  principle 


THE  EXISTENCE  AND  IDEA  OF  GOD 


M3 


Stress,  that  it  have  a  grain;  and  yet  more  stress, 

Till  the  unbounded  shiver  of  light  shatter 
Innumerously,  and  into  the  clear  inane 
Come  like  a  ghost  another  swarm  of  motes 
Shepherded  by  thy  thought  into  new  flocks, 

Away  from  thee,  outward,  circling,  numberless  kinds; 
Yet  the  same  partner,  the  old  lust,  is  with  them, 
Unrest,  severance  from  thy  quietude. 

Nor  first,  nor  last  of  them,  this  swirl  of  stars 
Unlike  the  others,  but  in  this  thing  alike. 

I  from  the  place  in  Being  called  Mankind 
Am  come,  seeking  thee,  and  look,  I  know  thee. 

Not  with  my  sense  and  reason  only;  these 
Man  fashioned  for  near  needs  of  common  life: 

Good  tools,  but  to  find  thee  of  no  more  use 
Than  ladders  to  thatch  houses  reach  the  sun. 

Not  Reason  finds  thee,  though  he  walk  with  gait 
Taking  gulfs  in  his  stride  as  far  across 
As  in  his  yearly  bout  the  throw  of  Saturn. 

My  wisdom  was  to  practice  with  the  power 
Emotion,  since  I  knew  it  was,  though  stall’d 
In  Somewhere,  yet  a  piece  of  the  Everywhere. 


ECCE  HOMO 
Witter  Bynner 

% 

Behold  the  man  alive  in  me, 

Behold  the  man  in  you  ! 

If  there  is  a  God — am  I  not  he? 

Shall  I  myself  undo? 

I  have  been  waiting  long  enough.  .  . 

Impossible  gods,  goodby ! 

I  wait  no  more :  the  way  is  rough — 
But  the  god  who  climbs,  is  I. 


144  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


THE  NEW  GOD 

Witter  Bynner 

From  The  New  World 

In  temporary  pain 

The  age  is  bearing  a  new  breed 

Of  men  and  women,  patriots  of  the  world 

And  one  another.  Boundaries  in  vain. 

Birthrights  and  countries,  would  constrain 
The  old  diversity  of  seed 
To  be  diversity  of  soul. 

O  mighty  patriots  maintain 
Your  loyalty! — till  flags  unfurled 
For  battle  shall  arraign 

The  traitors  who  unfurled  them,  shall  remain 
And  shine  over  an  army  with  no  slain, 

And  men  from  every  nation  shall  enroll, 

And  women — in  the  hardihood  of  peace  ! 

What  can  my  anger  do  but  cease  ? 

Whom  shall  I  fight  and  who  shall  be  my  enemy 
When  he  is  I  and  I  am  he  ? 

Let  me  have  done  with  that  old  God  outside 
Who  watched  with  preference  and  answered  prayer, 
The  Godhead  that  replied 
Now  here,  now  there, 

Where  heavy  cannon  were 
Or  coins  of  gold ! 

Let  me  receive  communion  with  all  men 
Acknowledging  our  one  and  only  soul ! 

For  not  till  then 

Can  God  be  God  till  we  ourselves  are  whole ! 


THE  EXISTENCE  AND  IDEA  OF  GOD 


145 


RENUNCIATION 
Mark  Wilks  Call 

Wakeful  all  night  I  lay  and  thought  of  God, 

Of  heaven,  and  of  crowns  pale  martyrs  gain, 

Of  souls  in  high  and  purgatorial  pain, 

And  the  red  path  which  murdered  seers  have  trod : 
I  heard  the  trumpets  which  the  angels  blow 
I  saw  the  cleaving  sword,  the  measuring  rod, 

I  watched  the  stream  of  sound  continuous  flow 
Past  the  gold  towers  where  seraphs  make  abode. 

But  now  I  let  that  aching  splendor  go, 

I  dare  not  call  the  crowned  angels  peers 
Henceforth.  I  am  content  to  dwell  below 
Mid  common  joys,  with  humble  smiles  and  tears 
Delighted  in  the  sun  and  breeze  to  grow, 

A  child  of  human  hopes  and  human  fears. 


EACH  IN  HIS  OWN  TONGUE 

William  Herbert  Carruth 

A  fire-mist  and  a  planet, — 

A  crystal  and  a  cell, — 

A  jellyfish  and  a  saurian, 

And  caves  where  the  cavemen  dwell ; 
Then  a  sense  of  law  and  beauty, 

And  a  face  turned  from  the  clod, — 
Some  call  it  Evolution, 

And  others  call  it  God. 

A  haze  on  the  far  horizon, 

The  infinite  tender  sky, 

The  rich  ripe  tint  of  the  corn-fields, 
And  the  wild  geese  sailing  high, — * 


146  THE  WORLD'S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

And  all  over  the  upland  and  lowland 
The  charm  of  the  golden  rod, — 

Some  of  us  call  it  autumn, 

And  others  call  it  God. 

Like  tides  on  the  crescent  seabeach, 

When  the  moon  is  new  and  thin, 

Into  our  hearts  high  yearnings, 

Come  welling  and  surging  in, — 

Come  from  the  mystic  ocean 
Whose  rim  no  foot  has  trod, — 

Some  of  us  call  it  Longing, 

And  others  call  it  God. 

A  picket  frozen  on  duty, — 

A  mother  starved  for  her  brood, — 
Socrates  drinking  the  hemlock, 

And  Jesus  on  the  rood; 

And  millions  who  humble  and  nameless,. 

The  straight  hard  pathway  plod, — 

Some  call  it  Consecration, 

And  others  call  it  God. 


PYGMALION 
In  part 

Hilda  Doolittle  (Mrs.  Richard  Aldington) 


I  made  god  upon  god 
Step  from  the  cold  rock, 

I  made  the  gods  less  than  men, 

For  I  was  a  man  and  they  my  work. 

And  now  what  is  it  that  has  come  to  pass? 

Each  of  the  gods,  perfect 
Cries  out  from  a  perfect  throat: 


THE  EXISTENCE  AND  IDEA  OF  GOD 


147 


You  are  useless, 

No  marble  can  bind  me 
No  stone  suggest. 

They  have  melted  into  the  light 
And  I  am  desolate. 

They  have  melted 
Each  from  his  plinth, 

Each  one  departs. 

They  have  gone : 

What  agony  can  express  my  grief? 
Each  from  his  marble  base 
Has  stepped  into  the  light 
And  my  work  is  for  naught  ? 


A  COMMON  INFERENCE 

Charlotte  Perkins  Gilman 

A  night:  mysterious,  tender,  quiet,  deep, 

Heavy  with  flowers;  full  of  life  asleep; 

Thrilling  with  insect  voices ;  thick  with  stars ; 

No  cloud  between  the  dew  drops  and  red  Mars; 
The  small  earth  whirling  softly  on  her  way, 

The  moonbeams  and  the  waterfalls  at  play; 

A  million  worlds  that  move  in  peace, 

A  million  mighty  laws  that  never  cease ; 

And  one  small  ant-heap,  hidden  by  small  weeds, 
Rich  with  eggs,  slaves,  and  store  of  millet  seeds. 
They  sleep  beneath  the  sod 
And  trust  in  God. 

A  day  :  all  glorious,  royal,  blazing  bright ; 

Heavy  with  flowers,  full  of  life  and  light; 

Great  fields  of  corn  and  sunshine ;  courteous  trees ; 
Snow-sainted  mountains;  earth-embracing  seas; 
Wide  golden  deserts;  slender  silver  streams; 

Clear  rainbows  where  the  tossing  fountain  gleams; 
And  everywhere,  in  happiness  and  peace, 


148  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

A  million  forms  of  life  that  never  cease ; 

And  one  small  ant-heap,  crushed  by  passing  tread, 
Hath  scarce  enough  alive  to  mourn  the  dead ! 

They  shriek  beneath  the  sod, 

“There  is  no  God !” 


GIVE  WAY ! 

Charlotte  Perkins  Gilman 

Shall  we  not  open  the  human  heart 
Swing  the  doors  till  the  hinges  start; 

Stop  our  worrying,  doubt,  and  din, 

Hunting  heaven  and  dodging  sin? 

There  is  no  need  to  search  so  wide, 

Open  the  door  and  stand  aside — 

Let  God  in ! 

Shall  we  not  open  the  human  heart 
To  loving  labor  in  field  and  mart; 

Working  together  for  all  about 
The  good,  large  labor  that  knows  not  doubt? 
Can  He  be  held  in  our  narrow  rim? 

Do  the  work  that  is  work  for  Him — 

Let  God  out ! 

; 

Shall  we  not  open  the  human  heart, 

Never  to  close  and  stand  apart? 

God  is  a  force  to  give  way  to ! 

God  is  a  thing  you  have  to  do ! 

God  can  never  be  caught’ by  prayer, 

Hid  in  your  heart  and  fastened  there — 

Let  God  through ! 


THE  EXISTENCE  AND  IDEA  OF  GOD 


149 


AGNOSTO  THEO 
Thomas  Hardy 

Long  have  I  framed  weak  phantasies  of  Thee, 
O  Wilier  masked  and  dumb ! 

Who  makest  Life  become, — 

As  though  by  laboring  all-unknowingly, 

Like  one  whom  reveries  numb. 

How  much  of  consciousness  informs  Thy  will, 
Thy  biddings,  as  if  blind, 

Of  death-inducing  kind, 

Nought  shows  to  us  ephemeral  ones  who  fill 
But  moments  in  Thy  mind. 

Perhaps  Thy  ancient  rote-restricted  ways 
Thy  ripening  rule  transcends; 

That  listless  effort  tends 
To  grow  percipient  with  advance  of  days, 

And  with  percipience  mends. 

For,  in  unwonted  purlieus,  far  and  nigh, 

At  whiles  or  short  or  long, 

May  be  discerned  a  wrong 
Dying  as  of  self-slaughter;  whereat  I 
Would  raise  my  voice  in  song. 


GOD’S  FUNERAL 
Thomas  Hardy 
1 

I  saw  a  slowly  stepping  train — 

Lined  on  the  brows,  scoop-eyed,  and  bent  and  hoar — 
Following  in  files  across  a  twilit  plain 
A  strange  and  mystic  form  the  foremost  bore. 


150  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


ii 

And  by  contagious  throbs  of  thought 
Or  latent  knowledge  that  within  me  lay 
And  had  already  stirred  me,  I  was  wrought 
To  consciousness  of  sorrow  even  as  they. 

hi 

The  forborne  shape,  to  my  blurred  eyes, 

At  first  seemed  man-like,  and  anon  to  change 
To  an  amorphous  cloud  of  marvellous  size, 

At  times  endowed  with  wings  of  glorious  range. 

IV 

And  this  phantasmal  variousness 
Ever  possessed  it  as  they  drew  along: 

Yet  throughout  all  it  symboled  none  the  less 
Potency  vast  and  loving-kindness  strong. 


v 

Almost  before  I  knew  I  bent 
Towards  the  moving  columns  without  a  word; 

They  growing  in  bulk  and  numbers  as  they  went, 
Struck  out  sick  thoughts  that  could  be  overheard: — 

VI 

“O  man-projected  Figure,  of  late 
Imaged  as  we,  thy  knell  who  shall  survive? 

Whence  came  it  we  were  tempted  to  create 
One  whom  we  can  no  longer  keep  alive? 

VII 

“Framing  him  jealous,  fierce  at  first, 

We  gave  him  justice  as  the  ages  rolled, 

Will  to  bless  those  by  circumstance  accursed, 

And  long-suffering,  and  mercies  manifold. 


THE  EXISTENCE  AND  IDEA  OF  GOD 


151 


VIII 

“And,  tricked  by  our  own  early  dream 
And  need  of  solace  we  grew  self-deceived, 

Our  making  soon  our  maker  we  did  deem, 

And  what  we  had  imagined  we  believed. 

IX 

‘‘Till,  in  Time's  stayless  stealthy  swing, 
Uncompromising  rude  reality 
Mangled  the  monarch  of  our  fashioning, 

Who  quavered,  sank;  and  now  has  ceased  to  be. 

x 

“So,  toward  our  myth's  oblivion, 

Darkling  and  languid-lipped,  we  creep  and  grope 
Sadlier  than  those  who  wept  in  Babylon, 

Whose  Zion  was  a  still  abiding  hope. 

XI 

“How  sweet  it  was  in  years  far  hied 
To  start  the  wheels  of  day  with  trustful  prayer 
To  lie  down  liegely  at  the  eventide 
And  feel  a  blessed  assurance  He  was  there ! 

XII 

“And  who  or  what  shall  fill  his  place  ? 

Whither  will  wanderers  turn  distracted  eyes 
For  some  fixed  star  to  stimulate  their  pace 
Towards  the  goal  of  their  enterprise?" 

XIII 

Some  in  the  background  then  I  saw, 

Sweet  women,  youths,  men,  all  incredulous 
Who  chimed:  “This  is  a  counterfeit  of  straw, 
This  requiem  mockery !  Still  he  lives  to  us !" 


152  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

XIV 

I  could  not  buoy  their  faith  :  and  yet 
Many  I  had  known ;  with  all  I  sympathized, 

And  though  struck  speechless,  I  did  not  forget 
That  what  was  mourned  for,  I,  too,  long  had  prized. 

xv 

Still,  how  to  bear  such  loss  I  deemed 
The  insistent  question  for  each  animate  mind, 

And  gazing,  to  my  growing  sight  there  seemed 
A  pale  yet  positive  gleam  low  down  behind, 

xvi 

Whereof,  to  lift  the  general  night, 

A  certain  few  who  stood  aloof  had  said 
“See  you  upon  the  horizon  that  small  light — 

Swelling  somewhat?”  Each  mourner  shook  his  head. 

XVII 

And  they  composed  a  crowd  of  whom 
Some  were  right  good,  and  many  nigh  the  best  .  .  . 
Thus  dazed  and  puzzled  ’twixt  the  gleam  and  gloom 
Mechanically,  I  followed  with  the  rest. 


DREAMS  OLD  AND  NASCENT 
D.  H.  Lawrence 

My  world  is  a  painted  fresco,  where  coloured  shapes 
Of  old,  ineffectual  lives  linger  blurred  and  warm; 

An  endless  tapestry  the  past  has  woven  drapes 
The  halls  of  my  life,  compelling  my  soul  to  conform. 

The  surface  of  dreams  is  broken, 

The  picture  of  the  past  is  shaken  and  scattered. 

Fluent,  active  figures  of  men  pass  along  the  railway,  and  I  am 
woken 

From  the  dreams  that  the  distance  flattered. 


THE  EXISTENCE  AND  IDEA  OF  GOD 


153 


Along  the  railway,  active  figures  of  men. 

They  have  a  secret  that  stirs  in  their  limbs  as  they  move 
Out  of  the  distance,  nearer,  commanding  my  dreamy  world. 

Here  in  the  subtle,  rounded  flesh 
Beats  the  active  ecstasy. 

In  the  sudden  lifting  my  eyes,  it  is  clearer, 

The  fascination  of  the  quick,  restless  Creator  moving  through 
the  mesh 

Of  men,  vibrating  in  ecstasy  through  the  rounded  flesh. 

Oh  my  boys,  bending  over  your  books, 

In  you  is  trembling  and  fusing 

The  creation  of  a  new-patterned  dream,  dream  of  a  generation : 
And  I  watch  to  see  the  Creator,  the  power  that  patterns  the 
dream. 

The  old  dreams  are  beautiful,  beloved,  soft-toned,  and  sure, 
But  the  dream-stuff  is  molten  and  moving  mysteriously, 
Alluring  my  eyes;  for  I,  am  I  not  also  dream-stuff, 

Am  I  not  quickening,  diffusing  myself  in  the  pattern,  shaping 
and  shapen? 

Here  in  my  class  is  the  answer  for  the  great  yearning : 

Eyes  where  I  can  watch  the  swim  of  old  dreams  reflected  on 
the  molten  metal  of  dreams, 

Watch  the  stir  which  is  rhythmic  and  moves  them  all  as  a 
heart-beat  moves  the  blood, 

Here  in  the  swelling  flesh  the  great  activity  working, 

Visible  there  in  the  change  of  eyes  and  the  mobile  features. 

Oh  the  great  mystery  and  fascination  of  the  unseen  Shaper, 
The  power  of  the  melting,  fusing  Force — heat,  light,  all  in  one, 
Everything  great  and  mysterious  in  one,  swelling  and  shaping 
the  dream  in  the  flesh, 

As  it  swells  and  shapes  a  bud  into  blossom. 

Oh  the  terrible  ecstasy  of  the  consciousness  that  I  am  life ! 
Oh  the  miracle  of  the  whole,  the  widespread,  labouring  con¬ 
centration 


154  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

Swelling  mankind  like  one  bud  to  bring  forth  the  fruit  of  a 
dream, 

Oh  the  terror  of  lifting  the  innermost  I  out  of  the  sweep  of 
the  impulse  of  life, 

And  watching  the  Great  Thing  labouring  through  the  whole 
round  flesh  of  the  world; 

And  striving  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  shape  of  the  coming 
dream, 

As  it  quickens  within  the  labouring,  white-hot  metal, 

Catch  the  scent  and  the  colour  of  the  coming  dream, 

Then  to  fall  back  exhausted  into  the  unconscious,  molten  life ! 


THE  GOD-MAKER,  MAN 
Don  Marquis 

Nevermore 

Shall  the  shepherds  of  Arcady  follow 
Pan’s  moods  as  he  lolls  by  the  shore 
Of  the  mere,  or  lies  hid  in  the  hollow; 

Nevermore 

Shall  they  start  at  the  sound  of  his  reed-fashioned  flute ; 
Fallen  mute 

Are  the  strings  of  Apollo 
His  lyre  and  his  lute ; 

And  the  lips  of  the  Memnons  are  mute 
Evermore ; 

And  the  Gods  of  the  North, — are  they  dead  or  forgetful 
Our  Odin  and  Baldur  and  Thor? 

Are  they  drunk  or  grown  weary  of  worship  and  fretful. 
Our  Odin  and  Baldur  and  Thor? 

And  into  what  night  have  the  Orient  deities  strayed? 
Swart  gods  of  the  Nile,  in  dark  splendors  arrayed, 
Brooding  Isis  and  somber  Osiris, 

You  were  gone  ere  the  fragile  papyrus 
That  bragged  you  eternal  decayed. 


THE  EXISTENCE  AND  IDEA  OF  GOD 


155 


The  avatars 

But  illumine  their  limited  evens 

And  vanish  like  plunging  stars; 

They  are  fixed  in  the  whirling  heavens 
No  firmer  than  falling  stars; 

Brief  lords  of  the  changing  soul,  they  pass 
Like  a  breath  from  the  face  of  a  glass, 

Or  a  blossom  of  summer  blown,  shallop-like,  over  the  clover 
And  tossed  tides  of  grass. 

Sink  to  silence  the  psalms  and  the  paeans 
The  Shibboleths  shift,  and  the  faiths, 

And  the  temples  that  challenged  the  aeons 
Are  tenanted  only  by  wraiths; 

Swoon  to  silence  the  cymbals  and  psalters, 

The  worship  grows  senseless  and  strange 
And  the  mockers  ask,  " Where  be  thy  altars?” 

Crying  “Nothing  is  changeless ,  but  Change!” 

Yes,  nothing  seems  changeless,  but  Change. 

And  yet,  through  the  creed-wrecking  years 
One  story  forever  appears; 

The  tale  of  a  City  Supernal 

The  whisper  of  Something  eternal — 

A  passion,  a  hope  and  a  vision 

That  peoples  the  silence  with  Powers; 

A  fable  of  meadows  Elysian 

Where  Time  enters  not,  with  his  Hours; — * 

Manifold  are  the  tale’s  variations, 

Race  and  clime  ever  tinting  the  dreams. 

Yet  its  essence  through  endless  mutations, 

Immutable  gleams. 

Deathless,  though  godheads  be  dying, 

Surviving  the  creeds  that  expire; 

Illogical,  reason-defying, 

Lives  that  passionate,  primal  desire; 

Insistent,  persistent,  forever, 

Man  cries  to  the  silences,  “Never 

Shall  death  reign  the  lord  of  my  sold, 

Shall  dust  be  the  ultima, te  goal — 


156  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

I  will  storm  the  black  bastions  of  Night! 

I  will  tread  where  my  vision  has  trod , 

I  will  set  in  the  darkness,  a  light, 

In  the  vastness,  a  god!” 

As  the  forehead  of  Man  grows  broader, 

So  do  his  creeds; 

And  his  gods  they  are  shaped  in  his  image, 

And  mirror  his  needs ; 

And  he  clothes  them  with  thunders  and  beauty, 

He  clothes  them  with  music  and  fire, 

Seeing  not,  as  he  bows  by  their  altars, 

That  he  worships  his  own  desire ; 

And,  mixed  with  his  trust  there  is  terror, 

And,  mixed  with  his  madness  is  ruth, 

And  every  man  grovels  in  error, 

Yet  every  man  glimpses  a  truth. 

For  all  of  the  creeds  are  false,  and  all  of  the  creeds  are  true; 
And  low  at  the  shrines  where  my  brothers  bow,  there  will  I 
bow  too; 

For  no  form  of  a  god,  and  no  fashion 
Man  has  made  in  his  desperate  passion 
But  is  worthy  some  worship  of  mine ; — 

Not  too  hot  with  a  gross  belief, 

Nor  yet  too  cold  with  pride, 

I  will  bow  down  where  my  brothers  bow, 

Humble,  but  open-eyed ! 


GOD 

Harold  Monro 
From  Dawn 

(The  Speech  of  Geoffrey,  the  poet) 

To  church !  I  heard  a  sermon  once  in  spring, 
When  last  I  went  to  church  five  years  ago — - 
Such  a  dry,  withered,  cracked  and  crabbed  thing 
As  might  have  made  the  flowers  forget  to  grow. 


THE  EXISTENCE  AND  IDEA  OF  GOD 


157 


To  church!  God  is  a  spirit,  not  a  creed; 

He  is  an  inner  outward-moving-  power : 

Go  to  the  heart  of  all,  and  watch  the  seed 
Strive  godward  and  at  last  become  the  flower. 


Once,  long  before  the  birth  of  time,  a  storm 
Of  white  Desire,  took  form, 

Strove,  won,  survived;  and  God  became  the  world. 

Next,  some  internal  force  began  to  move 
Within  the  bosom  of  that  latest  earth : 

The  spirit  of  an  elemental  love 

Stirred  outward  from  itself,  and  God  was  birth. 

Then  outward,  upward,  with  heroic  thew, 

Savage  from  young  and  bursting  blood  of  life. 
Desire  took  form,  and  conquered,  and  anew 
Strove,  conquered  and  took  form;  and  God  was  strife. 

Thus,  like  a  comet,  fiery  flight  on  flight; 

Flash  upon  flash,  and  purple  dawn  on  dawn: 

But  always  out  of  agony — delight; 

And  out  of  death — God  evermore  reborn. 

Till,  waxing  fast  and  subtle  and  supreme, 

Desiring  his  own  spirit  to  possess, 

Man  of  the  bright  eyes  and  the  ardent  dream 
Saw  paradise,  and  God  was  consciousness. 

He  is  that  one  Desire,  that  life,  that  breath, 

That  Soul  which,  with  infinity  of  pain, 

Passes  through  revelation  and  through  death 
Onward  and  upward  to  itself  again. 

Out  of  the  lives  of  heroes  and  their  deeds, 

Out  of  the  miracle  of  human  thought, 

Out  of  the  songs  of  singers,  God  proceeds; 

And  of  the  souls  of  them  his  soul  is  wrought. 


158  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

Nothing  is  lost:  all  that  is  dreamed  or  done 
Passes  unaltered  the  eternal  way, 

Immerging  in  the  everlasting  One, 

Who  was  the  dayspring  and  who  is  the  day. 

I  sing  forever  though  I  sing  in  vain. 


REALITY 
Angela  Morgan 

I  dreamed  a  dream  last  night,  when  all  was  still, 
When  earth  in  sleep  forgot  her  murmurings; 

I  saw  the  soul,  the  spirit, — what  you  will — 

Of  this  vast  world;  I  saw  the  heart  of  things. 

We  call  it  real,  this  world  of  shapes  and  sounds. 
These  objects  we  can  see  and  touch  and  hear, 
Nor  know  we  of  the  wonder-world  that  bounds 
And  thrills  beneath,  behind,  the  human  ear. 

I  looked  beneath,  nor  was  I  aught  afraid, 

And  saw  the  living  centre,  fine  as  flame, 

I  sensed  the  substance  whereof  man  is  made — 
That  which  defies  analysis  or  name. 

I  saw  that  back  of  everything  there  lies 
This  wondrous,  shining  essence,  finer  far 
Than  all  the  gathered  gold  of  western  skies, 

More  lasting  still  than  suns  or  planets  are. 

This,  this  is  real,  for  this  it  is  that  gives 
Life,  color,  motion,  form,  to  what  we  see. 

This  hidden  something  that  forever  lives, 
Sustaining  all  with  subtle  certainty. 

And  have  you  not,  at  some  portentous  time — 

Some  crisis  in  your  life,  some  pregnant  hour — 


THE  EXISTENCE  AND  IDEA  OF  GOD 


159 


Felt  a  swift  breath  from  out  this  realm  sublime, 
Thrilled  to  the  core  of  being  by  its  power? 

That  night  of  fierce  soul  struggle,  when  you  knelt 
And  cried  aloud  that  Death  unlock  the  bars; 

Then  looked  above  in  sudden  awe  and  felt 
The  mute  compassion  of  a  million  stars? 

That  time  you  listened  to  some  magic  strain 
Of  master  music,  shaken  by  its  might, 

And,  all  a-quiver  with  its  joy  and  pain 
Your  soul  swept  on  into  some  sphere  of  light? 

In  vain  do  men  of  science  seek  to  prove 
The  hidden  world  that  throbs  behind  the  seen; 

The  ever-present  cause  of  things  that  move 
Eludes  their  searching  sight,  however  keen. 

As  well  might  sunbeams  seek  to  prove  the  sun 
And  rivulets  the  ocean,  as  that  man — 

A  living  flame  from  out  the  Central  One — 

Should  seek  to  prove  the  Source  where  life  began. 

Within  that  unseen  realm,  all  thought  is  born; 

Each  inspiration  and  each  lofty  theme 
Is  mothered  there,  and  like  a  ray  of  morn 
Comes  shining  down  into  the  poet’s  dream. 

We  have  an  outlook  on  this  world  of  forms, 

While  deeply  rooted  in  the  hidden  sphere; 
Impregnable  to  terrors  and  to  storms, 

The  self-invisible  knows  naught  of  fear. 

Would  man  but  grasp,  with  focused  powers  of  mind 
The  subtle  laws  that  rule  the  finer  realm, 
Abandoning  the  lesser  aims  that  blind, 

The  grosser  joys  that  dull  and  overwhelm, 

This  dawning  century  would  bring  to  light 
The  deepest  truths  for  which  we  vainly  grope;  . 


i6o  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


Would  open  up  new  worlds  to  human  sight, 
In  large  fulfillment  of  our  biggest  hope  ! 


THE  NEW  GOD 
James  Oppenheim 

Ye  morning  glories,  ring  in  the  gale  your  bells, 

And  with  dew  water  the  walk’s  dust  for  the  burden-bearing 
ants ; 

Ye  swinging  spears  of  the  larkspur,  open  your  wells  of  gold 
And  pay  your  honey-tax  to  the  humming-bird.  .  .  . 

O  now  I  see  by  the  opening  of  blossoms, 

And  of  bills  of  hungry  fledglings, 

And  the  bright  travel  of  the  sun-drunk  insects, 

Morning’s  business  is  afoot :  Earth  is  busied  with  a  million 
mouths. 

Where  goes  eaten  grass  and  thrush-snapped  dragon-fly? 
Creation  eats  itself,  to  spawn  in  swarming  sun  rays.  .  .  . 

Bull  and  cricket  go  to  it:  life  lives  on  life  .  .  . 

But,  O,  ye  flame-daubed  irises,  and  ye  hosts  of  gnats, 

Like  a  well  of  light  moving  in  the  morning’s  light, 

What  is  this  garmented  animal  that  comes  eating  and  drinking 
among  you  ? 

What  is  this  upright  one,  with  spade  and  shears? 

He  is  the  visible  and  the  invisible. 

Behind  his  mouth  and  eyes  are  other  mouth  and  eyes.  .  .  . 
Thirster  after  visions 

Pie  sees  the  flowers  to  their  roots  and  the  Earth  back  through 
its  silent  ages : 

Pie  parts  the  sky  with  his  gaze : 

He  flings  a  magic  on  the  hills,  clothing  them  with  Upanishad 
music, 

Peopling  the  valley  with  dreamed  images  that  vanished  in 
Greece  millenniums  back ; 

And  in  the  actual  morning,  out  of  longing,  shapes  on  the  hills 
Tomorrow’s  golden  grandeur.  .  .  . 


THE  EXISTENCE  AND  IDEA  OF  GOD 


161 


O  ye  million  hungerers  and  ye  sun  rays 
Ye  are  the  many  mothers  of  this  invisible  god, 

This  Earth’s  star  and  the  sun  that  rise  singing  and  toiling 
among  you, 

This  that  is  I,  in  joy,  in  the  garden, 

Singing  to  you,  ye  morning  glories. 

Calling  to  you,  ye  swinging  spears  of  the  larkspur. 

MANUFACTURED  GODS 

Carl  Sandburg 

They  put  up  big  wooden  gods. 

Then  they  burned  the  big  wooden  gods 
And  put  up  brass  gods  and 
Changing  their  minds  suddenly 
Knocked  down  the  brass  gods  and  put  up 
A  dough-face  god  with  gold  ear-rings. 

The  poor  mutts,  the  pathetic  slant  heads, 

They  didn’t  know  a  little  tin  god 

Is  as  good  as  anything  in  the  line  of  gods, 

Nor  how  a  little  tin  god  answers  prayer 
And  makes  rain  and  brings  luck 
The  same  as  a  big  wooden  god  or  a  brass 
Or  dough-face  god  with  golden  ear-rings, 

A  MYSTIC  AS  SOLDIER 

Siegfried  Sassoon 

I  lived  my  days  apart, 

Dreaming  fair  songs  for  God, 

By  the  glory  of  my  heart 
Covered  and  crowned  and  shod. 

Now  God  is  in  the  strife, 

And  I  must  seek  Him  there, 

Where  death  outnumbers  life, 

And  furv  smites  the  air. 


1 62  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


I  walk  the  secret  way 
With  anger  in  my  brain. 

O  music  through  my  clay, 

When  will  you  sound  again? 

THE  HIDDEN  WEAVER 
Odell  Shepard 

There  where  he  sits,  in  the  cold,  in  the  gloom, 

Of  his  far-away  place  by  his  thundering  loom, 

He  weaves  on  the  shuttles  of  day  and  of  night 
The  shades  of  our  sorrow  and  shapes  of  delight. 

He  has  wrought  him  a  glimmering  garment  to  fling 
Over  the  sweet  swift  limbs  of  the  Spring, 

He  has  woven  a  fabric  of  wonder  to  be 
For  a  blue  and  a  billowy  robe  to  the  sea. 

He  has  fashioned  in  somber,  funereal  dyes 
A  tissue  of  gold  for  the  midnight  skies. 

But  sudden  the  woof  all  turns  to  red. 

Has  he  lost  his  craft?  Has  he  snapped  his  thread? 
Sudden  the  web  all  sanguine  runs. 

Does  he  hear  the  yell  of  the  thirsting  guns? 

While  the  scarlet  crimes  and  the  crimson  sins 

Grow  from  the  dizzying  outs  and  ins 

Of  the  shuttle  that  spins,  does  he  see  it  and  feel? 

Or  is  he  the  slave  of  a  tyrannous  wheel  ? 

Inscrutable  faces,  mysterious  eyes, 

Are  watching  him  out  of  the  drifting  skies; 

Exiles  of  chaos  crowd  through  the  gloom 
Of  the  uttermost  cold  to  that  thundering  room 
And  whisper  and  peer  through  the  dusk  to  the  mark 
What  thing  he  is  weaving  there  in  the  dark. 

Will  he  leave  the  loom  that  he  won  from  them 
And  rend  his  fabric  from  hem  to  hem? 

Is  he  weaving  with  daring  and  skill  sublime 
A  wonderful  winding-sheet  for  time  ? 


THE  EXISTENCE  AND  IDEA  OF  GOD 


Ah,  but  he  sits  in  a  darkling  place, 

Hiding  his  hands,  hiding  his  face, 

Hiding  his  art  behind  the  shine 

Of  the  web  that  he  weaves  so  long  and  fine. 

Loudly  the  great  wheel  hums  and  rings 
And  we  hear  not  even  the  song  that  he  sings. 

Over  the  whirr  of  the  shuttles  and  all 

The  roar  and  the  rush,  does  he  hear  when  we  call? 

Only  the  colors  that  grow  and  glow 
Swift  as  the  hurrying  shuttles  go. 

Only  the  figures  vivid  or  dim 

That  flow  from  the  hastening  hands  of  him, 

Only  the  fugitive  shapes  are  we, 

Wrought  in  the  web  of  eternity. 


HOW  SHALL  WE  RISE  TO  GREET  THE  DAWN 

Osbert  Sitwell 

How  shall  we  rise  to  greet  the  dawn? 

Not  timidly 

With  a  hand  above  our  eyes, 

But  greet  the  strong  light 
Joyfully : 

Now  will  we  mistake  the  dawn 
For  the  mid-day. 

We  must  create  and  fashion  a  new  God — 

A  God  of  power,  of  beauty  and  of  strength — 
Created  painfully,  cruelly, 

Labouring  from  the  revulsion  of  men’s  minds. 

It  is  not  that  the  money  changers 

Ply  their  trade 

Within  the  sacred  places; 

But  that  the  old  God 

Has  made  the  Stock  Exchange  his  Temple. 

We  must  drive  him  from  it. 


1 64  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

Why  should  we  tinker  with  clay  feet? 

We  will  fashion 
A  perfect  unity 
Of  precious  metals. 


Let  us  dig  up  the  dragon’s  teeth 
From  this  fertile  soil; 

Swiftly, 

Before  they  fructify; 

Let  us  give  them  as  medicine 
To  the  writhing  monster  itself. 

We  must  create  and  fashion  a  new  God — 

A  God  of  power,  of  beauty  and  of  strength; 
Created  painfully,  cruelly, 

Labouring  from  the  revulsion  of  men’s  minds. 
Cast  down  the  idols  of  a  thousand  years, 
Crush  them  to  the  dust 
Beneath  the  dancing  rhythm  of  our  feet. 

Oh !  Let  us  dance  upon  the  weak  and  cruel : 
We  must  create  and  fashion  a  new  God. 


WHAT  TOMAS  AN  BUILE  SAID  IN  A  PUB 

James  Stephens 

I  saw  God.  Do  you  doubt  it? 

Do  you  dare  to  doubt  it? 

I  saw  the  Almighty  Man.  His  hand 
Was  resting  on  a  mountain,  and 
He  looked  upon  the  World  and  all  about  it: 

I  saw  Him  plainer  than  you  see  me  now, 

You  mustn’t  doubt  it. 

He  was  not  satisfied; 

His  look  was  all  dissatisfied. 

His  beard  swung  on  a  wind  far  out  of  sight 
Behind  the  world’s  curve,  and  there  was  hVht 


THE  EXISTENCE  AND  IDEA  OF  GOD  165 

Most  fearful  from  His  forehead,  and  He  sighed, 

“That  star  went  always  wrong,  and  from  the  start 
I  was  dissatisfied.” 

He  lifted  up  His  hand — 

I  say  He  heaved  a  dreadful  hand 

Over  the  spinning  Earth,  then  I  said :  “Stay — 

You  must  not  strike  it,  God;  I’m  in  the  way; 

And  I  will  never  move  from  where  I  stand.” 

He  said,  “Dear  child,  I  feared  that  you  were  dead,” 

And  stayed  His  hand. 


From  GITANJALI 
Rabindranath  Tagore 

45 

Have  you  not  heard  his  silent  steps? 

He  comes,  comes,  ever  comes. 

Every  moment  and  every  age,  every  day  and  every  night  he 
comes,  comes,  ever  comes. 

Many  a  song  have  I  sung  in  many  a  mood  of  mind,  but  their 
notes  have  always  proclaimed,  “He  comes,  comes,  ever 
comes.” 

In  the  fragrant  days  of  sunny  April  through  the  forest  path 
he  comes,  comes,  ever  comes. 

In  the  rainy  gloom  of  July  nights,  on  the  thundering  chariot 
of  clouds  he  comes,  comes,  ever  comes. 

In  sorrow  after  sorrow  it  is  his  steps  that  press  upon  my  heart, 
and  it  is  the  golden  touch  of  his  feet  that  makes  my  joy 
to  shine. 

46 

I  know  not  from  what  distant  time  thou  art  ever  coming  nearer 
to  meet  me. 

Thy  sun  and  thy  stars  can  never  keep  thee  hidden  from  me 
for  aye. 

Ip  many  a  morning  and  eve  thy  footsteps  have  been  heard 
and  thy  messenger  has  come  within  my  heart  and  called 
me  in  secret. 


1 66  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


I  know  not  why  today  my  life  is  all  astir,  and  a  feeling  of 
tremulous  joy  is  passing  through  my  heart. 

It  is  as  if  my  time  were  come  to  wind  up  my  work,  and  I  feel 
in  the  air  a  faint  sweet  smell  of  thy  presence. 


72 

He  it  is,  the  innermost  one,  who  awakens  my  being  with  his 
deep  hidden  touches. 

He  it  is  who 'puts  his  enchantment  upon  these  eyes  and  joy¬ 
fully  plays  on  the  chords  of  my  heart  in  varied  cadence 
of  pleasure  and  pain. 

He  it  is  who  weaves  the  web  of  this  may  a,  in  evanescent 
hues  of  gold  and  silver,  blue  and  green,  and  lets  peep 
out  from  the  folds  his  feet,  at  whose  touch  I  forget 
myself. 

Days  come  and  ages  pass,  and  it  is  ever  he  who  moves  my 
heart  in  many  a  name,  in  many  a  guise,  in  many  a  rapture 
of  joy  and  sorrow. 


73 

Deliverance  is  not  for  me  in  renunciation.  I  feel  the  embrace 
of  freedom  in  a  thousand  bonds  of  delight. 

Thou  ever  pourest  for  me  the  fresh  draught  of  thy  wine  of 
various  colors  and  fragrance,  filling  this  earthen  vessel 
to  the  brim. 

My  world  will  light  its  hundred  different  lamps  with  thy 
flame  and  place  them  before  the  altar  of  thy  temple. 

No,  I  will  never  shut  the  doors  of  my  senses.  The  delights 
of  touch  and  hearing  will  bear  thy  delight. 

Yes,  all  my  illusions  will  burn  into  illumination  of  joy,  and 
all  my  desires  ripen  into  fruits  of  love. 


THE  EXISTENCE  AND  IDEA  OF  GOD 


i 


THE  HOPE  OF  THE  WORLD 
William  Watson 

i 

Higher  than  heaven  they  sit, 

Life  and  her  consort  Law; 

And  One  whose  countenance  lit 
In  mine  more  perfect  awe, 

Fain  had  I  deemed  their  peer, 

Beside  them  throned  above : 

Ev’n  him  who  casts  out  fear, 

Unconquerable  Love. 

Ah,  ’twas  on  earth  alone  that  I  his  beauty  saw. 

ii 

On  earth,  in  homes  of  men, 

In  hearts  that  crave  and  die. 

Dwells  he  not  also,  then, 

With  Godhead,  throned  on  high? 

This  and  but  this  I  know : 

His  face  I  see  not  there : 

Here  find  I  him  below, 

Nor  find  him  otherwhere; 

Born  of  an  aching  world,  Pain’s  bridegroom,  Death’s  ally. 

hi 

Did  Heaven  vouchsafe  some  sign 
That  through  all  Nature’s  frame 

Boundless  ascent  benign 
Is  everywhere  her  aim, 

Such  as  man  hopes  it  here, 

Where  he  from  beasts  hath  risen, — 

Then  might  I  read  full  clear, 

Ev’n  in  my  sensual  prison, 

That  Life  and  Law  and  Love  are  one  symphonious  name. 


1 68  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


IV 

Such  sign  hath  Heaven  yet  lent? 

Nay,  on  this  earth,  are  we 

So  sure  ’tis  real  ascent 
And  very  gain  we  see  ? 

’Gainst  Evil  striving  still, 

Some  spoils  of  war  we  wrest : 

Not  to  discover  Ill 

Were  haply  state  as  blest. 

We  vaunt,  o’er  doubtful  foes,  a  dubious  victory. 

v 

In  cave  and  bosky  dene 
Of  old  there  crept  and  ran 

The  gibbering  form  obscene 
That  was  and  was  not  man. 

The  desert  beasts  went  by 
In  fairer  covering  clad; 

More  speculative  eye 
The  couchant  lion  had, 

The  goodlier  speech  the  birds,  than  we  when  we  began. 

VI 

Was  it  some  random  throw 
Of  heedless  Nature’s  die, 

That  from  estate  so  low 
Uplifted  man  so  high? 

Through  untold  icons  vast 
She  let  him  lurk  and  cower : 

’Twould  seem  he  climbed  at  last 
In  mere  fortuitous  hour, 

Child  of  a  thousand  chances  ’neath  the  indifferent  sky. 

VII 

A  soul  so  long  deferred 

In  his  blind  brain  he  bore, 

It  might  have  slept  unstirred 
Ten  million  noontides  more. 


THE  EXISTENCE  AND  IDEA  OF  GOD 


169 


Yea,  round  him  Darkness  might 
Till  now  her  folds  have  drawn, 

O'er  that  enormous  night 
So  casual  came  the  dawn, 

Such  hues  of  hap  and  hazard  Man’s  Emergence  wore ! 

VIII 

If,  then,  our  rise  from  gloom 
Hath  this  capricious  air, 

What  ground  is  mine  to  assume 
An  upward  process  there, 

In  yonder  worlds  that  shine 
From  alien  tracts  of  sky? 

Nor  ground  to  assume  is  mine 
Nor  warrant  to  deny. 

Equal,  my  source  of  hope,  my  reason  for  despair. 

IX 

And  though  within  me  here 
Hope  lingers  unsubdued, 

’Tis  because  airiest  cheer 
Suffices  for  her  food  ! 

As  some  adventurous  flower, 

On  savage  crag-side  grown, 

Seems  nourished  hour  by  hour 
From  its  wild  self  alone, 

So  lives  inveterate  Hope,  on  her  own  hardihood. 

x 

She  tells  me,  whispering  low : 

‘Wherefore  and  whence  thou  wast, 

Thou  shalt  behold  and  know 

When  the  great  bridge  is  crossed. 

For  not  in  mockery  He 

Thy  gift  of  wondering  gave, 

Nor  bade  thine  answer  be 
The  blank  stare  of  the  grave. 

Thou  shalt  behold  and  know;  and  find  again  thy  lost.’ 


170  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


XI 

With  rapt  eyes  fixed  afar, 

She  tells  me  :  ‘Throughout  Space, 

Godward  each  peopled  star 
Runs  with  thy  Earth  a  race. 

Wouldst  have  the  goal  so  nigh, 

The  course  so  smooth  a  field, 

That  Triumph  should  thereby 
One  half  its  glory  yield? 

And  can  Life’s  pyramid  soar  all  apex  and  no  base?’ 

XII 

She  saith:  ‘Old  dragons  lie 

In  bowers  of  pleasance  curled; 

And  dost  thou  ask  me  why? 

It  is  a  Wizard’s  world ! 

Enchanted  princes  these, 

Who  yet  their  scales  shall  cast. 

And  through  his  sorceries 
Die  into  kings  at  last. 

Ambushed  in  Winter’s  heart  the  rose  of  June  is  furled.’ 

XIII 

Such  are  the  tales  she  tells : 

Who  trusts,  the  happier  he: 

But  nought  of  virtue  dwells 
In  that  felicity ! 

I  think  the  harder  feat 

Were  his  who  should  withstand 

A  voice  so  passing  sweet, 

And  so  profuse  a  hand, — 

Hope,  I  forego  the  wealth  thou  fling’st  abroad  so  free ! 

XIV 

Carry  thy  largess  hence, 

Light  Giver !  Let  me  learn 

To  abjure  the  opulence 

I  have  done  nought  to  earn; 


t 


THE  EXISTENCE  AND  IDEA  OF  GOD 

And  on  this  world  no  more 
To  cast  ignoble  slight, 

Counting  it  but  the  door 

Of  other  worlds  more  bright. 

Here,  where  I  fail  or  conquer,  here  is  my  concern: 


Here,  where  perhaps  alone 
I  conquer  or  I  fail. 

Here,  o’er  the  dark  Deep  blown, 

I  ask  no  perfumed  gale ; 

I  ask  the  unpampering  breath 
That  fits  me  to  endure 
Chance,  and  victorious  Death, 

Life,  and  my  doom  obscure, 

Who  know  not  whence  I  am  sped,  nor  to  what  port  I  sail. 


THE  UNKNOWN  GOD 
William  Watson 

When,  over-arched  by  gorgeous  night, 

I  wave  my  trivial  self  away; 

When  all  I  was  to  all  men’s  sight 
Shares  the  erasure  of  the  day; 

Then  do  I  cast  my  cumbering  load, 

Then  do  I  gain  a  sense  of  God. 

Not  him  that  with  fantastic  boasts 
A  sombre  people  dreamed  they  knew; 

The  mere  barbaric  God  of  Hosts 

That  edged  their  sword  and  braced  their  thew: 

A  God  they  pitted  ’gainst  a  swarm 

Of  neighbor  Gods  less  vast  of  arm; 

A  God  like  some  imperious  king, 

Wroth  were  his  realm  not  duly  awed; 

A  God  forever  hearkening 

Unto  his  self-commanded  laud; 


172  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

A  God  forever  jealous  grown 

Of  carven  wood  and  graven  stone ; 

A  God  whose  ghost,  in  arch  and  aisle, 

Yet  haunts  his  temple  and  his  tomb; 

But  follows  in  a  little  while 
Odin  and  Zeus  to  equal  doom; 

A  God  of  kindred  seed  and  line; 

Man’s  giant  shadow,  hailed  divine. 

O  streaming  worlds,  O  crowded  sky, 

O  Life,  and  mine  own  soul’s  abyss, 

Myself  am  scarce  so  small  that  I 
Should  bow  to  Deity  like  this  ! 

This  my  Begetter?  This  was  what 

Man  in  his  violent  youth  begot. 

The  God  I  know  of,  I  shall  ne’er 

Know,  though  he  dwells  exceeding  high. 

Raise  thou  the  stone  and  find  me  there, 

Cleave  thou  the  wood  and  there  am  /. 

Yea,  in  my  flesh  his  spirit  doth  flow, 

Too  near,  too  far,  for  me  to  know. 

Whate’er  my  deeds,  I  am  not  sure 
That  I  can  pleasure  him  or  vex: 

I  that  must  use  a  speech  so  poor 
It  narrows  the  supreme  with  sex. 

Notes  he  the  good  or  ill  in  man? 

To  hope  he  cares  is  all  I  can. 

I  hope,  with  fear.  For  did  I  trust 
The  vision  granted  me  at  birth, 

The  sire  of  heaven  would  seem  less  just 
Than  many  a  faulty  son  of  earth. 

And  so  he  seems  indeed!  But  then! 

I  trust  it  not,  this  bounded  ken. 

And  dreaming  much,  I  never  dare 
To  dream  that  in  my  prisoned  soul 


THE  EXISTENCE  AND  IDEA  OF  GOD 


173 


The  flutter  of  a  trembling  prayer 

Can  move  the  Mind  that  is  the  Whole. 
Though  kneeling  nations  watch  and  yearn, 
Does  the  primordial  purpose  turn? 

Best  by  remembering  God,  say  some, 

We  keep  our  high  imperial  lot. 

Fortune,  I  fear,  hath  oftenest  come 
When  we  forgot — when  we  forgot ! 

A  lovelier  faith  their  happier  crown, 

But  history  laughs  and  weeps  it  down ! 

Know  they  not  well,  how  seven  times  seven, 
Wronging  our  mighty  arms  with  rust, 

We  dared  not  do  the  work  of  heaven! 

Lest  heaven  should  hurl  us  in  the  dust? 
The  work  of  heaven !  ’Tis  waiting  still 
The  sanction  of  the  heavenly  will. 

Unmeet  to  be  profaned  by  praise 
Is  he  whose  coils  the  world  unfold; 

The  God  on  whom  I  never  gaze, 

The  God  I  never  once  behold : 

Above  the  cloud,  beneath  the  clod : 

The  Unknown  God,  The  Unknown  God. 


THE  AWAKENED  WAR  GOD 

Margaret  Widdemer 

The  War  God  wakened  drowsily ; 

There  were  gold  chains  about  his  hands. 
He  said :  “And  who  shall  reap  my  lands 
And  bear  the  tithes  to  Death  for  me? 

“The  nations  stilled  my  thunderings : 

They  wearied  of  my  steel  despair 
The  flames  from  out  my  burning  hair: 

Is  there  an  ending  of  such  things  ?” 


174  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

Low  laughed  the  Earth,  and  answered:  “When 
Was  any  changeless  law  I  gave 
Changed  by  my  sons  intent  to  save, 

By  puny  pitying  hands  of  men? 

“I  feel  no  ruth  for  some  I  bear.  .  .  . 

The  swarming,  hungering  overflow 
Of  crowded  millions,  doomed  to  go, 

They  must  destroy  who  chained  you  there. 

“For  some  bright  stone  or  shining  praise 
They  stint  a  million  bodies’  breath, 

And  sell  the  women,  shamed,  to  death, 

And  send  the  men  brief  length  of  days. 

“They  kill  the  bodies  swift  for  me, 

And  kill  the  souls  you  gave  to  peace.  .  .  * 

You  were  more  merciful  than  these, 

Old  master  of  my  cruelty. 

“Lo,  souls  are  scarred  and  virtues  dim: 

Take  back  thy  scourge  of  ministry, 

Rise  from  thy  silence  suddenly, 

Lest  these  still  take  Death’s  toll  to  him!” 

The  War  God  snapped  his  golden  chain: 

His  mercies  thundered  down  the  world, 

And  lashing  battle  lines  uncurled 
And  scourged  the  crouching  lands  again. 


AN  INDIAN  UPON  GOD 
William  B.  Yeats 

I  passed  along  the  water’s  edge,  below  the  humid  trees 
My  spirit  rocked  in  evening  light,  the  rushes  round  my  knees, 
My  spirit  rocked  in  sleep  and  sighs;  and  saw  the  moor-fowl 
pace 


THE  EXISTENCE  AND  IDEA  OF  GOD 


175 

All  dripping  on  a  glassy  slope,  and  saw  them  cease  to  chase 
Each  other  round  in  circles,  and  heard  the  eldest  speak : 

6‘Who  holds  the  world  between  His  bill  and  made  us  strong 
or  weak 

Is  an  undying  moor-fowl,  and  He  lives  beyond  the  sky. 

The  rains  are  from  His  dripping  wing,  the  moonbeams  from 
His  eye/’ 

I  passed  a  little  further  on  and  heard  a  lotus  talk : 

“Who  made  the  world  and  ruleth  it,  He  hangeth  on  a  stalk, 
For  I  am  in  his  image  made,  and  all  this  tinkling  tide 
Is  but  a  sliding  drop  of  rain  between  his  petals  wide.” 

A  little  way  within  the  gloom  a  roe-buck  raised  his  eyes 
Brimful  of  starlight,  and  he  said :  “The  Stamper  of  the  skies, 
He  is  a  gentle  roe-buck;  for  how  else,  I  pray,  could  He 
Conceive  a  thing  so  sad  and  soft,  a  gentle  thing  like  me?” 

I  passed  a  little  further  on  and  heard  a  peacock  say : 

“Who  made  the  grass  and  made  the  worms  and  made  my 
feathers  gay 

He  is  a  monstrous  peacock,  and  he  waveth  all  the  night 
His  languid  tail  above  us,  lit  with  myriad  spots  of  light.” 


JEHOVAH 
Israel  Zangwill 

“Destroying  and  making  alive,  and  causing  salvation  to  spring 

forth.” — Jewish  Prayer  Book. 

I  sing  the  uplift  and  the  up-welling, 

I  sing  the  yearning  toward  the  sun, 

And  the  blind  sea  that  lifts  white  hands  of  prayer. 

I  sing  the  wild  battle  cry  of  warriors 
And  the  sweet  whispers  of  lovers, 

And  the  dear  word  of  the  hearth  and  the  altar, 

Aspiration,  Inspiration,  Compensation, 

God ! 


176  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


The  hint  of  beauty  behind  the  turbid  cities, 

The  eternal  laws  that  cleanse  and  cancel. 

The  pity  through  the  savagery  of  nature, 

The  love  atoning  for  the  brothels, 

The  Master-Artist  behind  His  tragedies 
Creator,  Destroyer,  Purifier,  Avenger, 

God! 

Come  into  the  circle  of  Love  and  Justice, 

Come  into  the  brotherhood  of  Pity, 

Of  Holiness  and  Health  ! 

Strike  out  glad  limbs  upon  the  sunny  water, 

Or  be  dragged  down  amid  the  rotting  weeds 
The  festering  bodies. 

Save  thy  soul  from  sandy  barrenness, 

Let  it  blossom  with  roses  and  gleam  with  living  waters. 

Blame  not,  nor  reason  of  your  Past, 

Nor  explain  to  Him  your  congenital  weakness, 

But  come,  for  He  is  remorseless, 

Call  Him  unjust,  but  come. 

Do  not  mock  or  defy  Him,  for  He  will  prevail; 

He  regardeth  not  you :  He  hath  swallowed  the  worlds  and 
the  nations ; 

He  hath  humor,  too :  disease  and  death  for  the  snugly  pros¬ 
perous. 

For  such  is  the  Law,  stern,  unchangeable,  shining, 

Making  dung  from  souls  and  souls  from  dung. 

Thrilling  the  dust  to  holy  beautiful  spirit, 

And  returning  the  spirit  to  dust, 

Come  and  ye  shall  know  Peace  and  Joy. 

Let  what  ye  desire  of  the  universe  penetrate  you, 

Let  Loving-kindness  and  Mercy  pass  through  you, 

And  Truth  be  the  Law  of  your  mouth. 

For  so  ye  are  channels  of  the  divine  sea, 

Which  may  not  flood  the  earth  but  only  steal  in 
Through  rifts  in  your  souls. 


THE  EXISTENCE  AND  IDEA  OF  GOD 


1 77 


AT  THE  WORST 
Israel  Zangwill 

‘‘And  Man  is  left  alone  with  Man.”  ’Tis  well ! 
The  shapes  that  in  the  dusky  background  fell 
From  Man’s  bright  soul  are  laid  by  morning’s  spell. 

Why  stay  the  Present  ’gainst  the  Past  to  poise? 
Man  grown  to  Manhood  spurns  his  childish  toys 
And  wakes  to  grander  fears  and  hopes  and  joys. 

If  aught  is  lost  that  we  should  long  to  keep, 

’Tis  Manhood’s  part  to  work  and  not  to  weep. 

Old  age  comes  on,  and  everlasting  sleep. 

We  are — whatever  we  have  been  before ; 

We  have  whatever  gold  was  in  the  ore; 

God  lives  as  much  as  in  the  days  of  yore. 

In  fires  of  human  work  and  love  and  song, 

In  wells  of  human  tears  that  pitying  throng, 

In  thunder-clouds  of  human  wrath  at  wrong. 

The  burning  bush  doth  not  the  more  consume. 
New  branches  shoot  where  old  no  more  illume, 
Eternal  splendor  flames  upon  the  gloom. 

Though  Hell  and  Heaven  were  a  dream  forgot, 
And  unregarded  sacrifice  our  lot, 

We  serve  God  better,  deeming  He  is  not. 

Perchance,  O  ye  that  toil  on,  though  forlorn 
By  your  souls’  travail,  your  own  noble  scorn, 

The  very  God  you  crave  is  being  born. 

Nor  yet  hath  Man  of  faith  and  courage  failed, 
Albeit  dazzled  for  a  space  and  paled 
By  glimpse  of  Truth — God’s  awful  face  unveiled. 


178  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

No  change  need  be  in  all  that  we  hold  dear  ; 

Love,  Virtue,  Knowledge,  Beauty — all  are  here, 

One  Hope  is  gone — but  in  its  train  one  Fear. 

The  sea  wind  blows  as  fresh ;  the  ocean  heaves 
As  blue  and  buoyant:  Nature  nowhere  grieves; 

As  bright  a  green  is  on  the  forest  leaves. 

Larks  sing  and  roses  still  are  odorous, 

Art,  Poetry  and  Music  are  still  for  us, 

And  Woman  just  as  fair  and  marvellous. 

And  if  the  earth  with  endless  fray  is  rife. 
Acknowledge  in  the  universal  strife, 

The  zest  of  this,  the  seed  of  higher,  life. 

Evil  is  here ?  That’s  work  for  us  to  do. 

The  Old  is  dying?  Let’s  beget  the  New. 

And  Death  awaits  us?  Rest  is  but  our  due. 


IV.  Faith 


a.  THE  OLD  FAITH 

b.  MODERN  FAITH 
C.  NEW  VOICES 


IV.  Faith 


a.  THE  OLD  FAITH 

PROVIDENCE 

Light  Shining  Out  of  Darkness 
William  Cowper 

God  moves  in  a  mysterious  way 
His  wonders  to  perform; 

He  plants  his  footsteps  in  the  sea, 
And  rides  upon  the  storm. 

Deep  in  unfathomable  mines 
Of  never-failing  skill 

He  treasures  up  his  bright  designs, 
And  works  his  sovereign  will. 

Ye  fearful  saints,  fresh  courage  take, 
The  clouds  ye  so  much  dread 

Are  big  with  mercy,  and  shall  break 
In  blessings  on  your  head. 

Judge  not  the  Lord  by  feeble  sense, 
But  trust  him  for  his  grace : 

Behind  a  frowning  providence 
He  hides  a  smiling  face. 

His  purposes  will  ripen  fast, 
Unfolding  every  hour; 

The  bud  may  have  a  bitter  taste 
But  sweet  will  be  the  flower. 

181 


1 82  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


Blind  unbelief  is  sure  to  err, 
And  scan  his  work  in  vain; 
God  is  his  own  interpreter 
And  he  will  make  it  plain. 


A  LITTLE  BIRD  I  AM 
Madame  Guyon 
(Written  in  the  BastiHe) 

Translated  by  Prof.  T.  C.  Upham 

A  little  bird  I  am, 

Shut  in  from  fields  of  air, 

And  in  my  cage  I  sit  and  sing, 

To  him  who  placed  me  there; 

Well  pleased  a  prisoner  to  be, 

Because,  my  God,  it  pleases  thee ! 

Naught  have  I  else  to  do, 

I  sing  the  whole  day  long; 

And  he  whom  I  most  love  to  please 
Doth  listen  to  my  song; 

He  caught  and  bound  my  wandering  wing, 

And  still  he  bends  to  hear  me  sing. 

Thou  hast  an  ear  to  hear, 

A  heart  to  love  and  bless; 

And  though  my  notes  were  e’er  so  rude, 
Thou  wouldst  not  hear  the  less ; 

Because  thou  knowest  as  they  fall, 

That  love,  sweet  love,  inspires  them  all. 

My  cage  confines  me  round, 

Abroad  I  cannot  fly; 

But  though  my  wing  is  closely  bound, 

My  heart’s  at  liberty; 

My  prison  walls  cannot  control 

The  flight,  the  freedom  of  the  soul. 


FAITH 


Oh,  it  is  good  to  soar, 

These  bolts  and  bars  above, 

To  him  whose  purpose  I  adore, 
Whose  providence  I  love ; 

And  in  thy  mighty  will  to  find 
The  joy,  the  freedom  of  the  mind. 


TO  GOD 

Robert  Herrick 

Lord,  I  am  like  to  mistletoe, 

Which  has  no  root  and  cannot  grow 
Or  prosper,  but  by  that  same  tree 
It  clings  about :  so  I  by  thee. 

What  need  I  then  to  fear  at  all 
So  long  as  I  about  thee  crawl? 

But  if  that  tree  should  fall  and  die, 
Tumble  shall  heaven,  and  so  down  will  L 


THE  FLYING  WHEEL 

Katharine  Tynan  Hinkson 

When  I  was  young  the  days  were  long, 
O,  long  the  days  when  I  was  young : 
So  long  from  morn  to  evenfall 
As  they  would  never  end  at  all. 

Now  I  grow  old  Time  flies,  alas! 

I  watch  the  years  and  seasons  pass. 
Time  turns  him  with  his  fingers  thin 
A  wheel  that  whirls  while  it  doth  spin. 

There  is  no  time  to  take  one’s  ease, 
For  to  sit  still  and  be  at  peace : 

Oh,  whirling  wheel  of  Time,  be  still, 
Let  me  be  quiet  if  you  will ! 


84  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

Yet  still  it  turns  so  giddily, 

So  fast  the  years  and  seasons  fly, 

Dazed  with  the  noise  and  speed  I  run 
And  stay  me  on  the  Changeless  One. 

I  stay  myself  on  Him  who  stays 
Ever  the  same  through  nights  and  days: 

The  One  Unchangeable  for  aye, 

That  was  and  will  be :  the  one  Stay, 

O’er  whom  Eternity  will  pass 
But  as  an  image  in  a  glass; 

To  whom  a  million  years  are  nought, — 

I  stay  myself  on  a  great  Thought. 

1  stay  myself  on  the  great  Quiet 
After  the  noises  and  the  riot; 

As  in  a  garnished  chamber  sit 
Far  from  the  tumult  of  the  street. 

Oh,  wheel  of  Time,  turn  round  apace ! 

But  I  have  found  a  resting  place. 

You  will  not  trouble  me  again 
In  the  great  peace  where  I  attain 


THE  INCOMPREHENSIBLE 
Isaac  Watts 

Far  in  the  Heavens  my  God  retires: 

My  God,  the  mark  of  my  desires. 

And  hides  His  lovely  face ; 

When  Pie  descends  within  my  view, 

He  charms  my  reason  to  pursue, 

But  leaves  it  tired  and  fainting  in  th’  unequal  chase. 

Or  if  I  reach  unusual  height 

Till  near  His  presence  brought, 

There  floods  of  glory  check  my  flight 


FAITH 


18 


Cramp  the  bold  pinions  of  my  wit, 

And  all  untune  my  thought; 

Plunged  in  a  sea  of  light  I  roll, 

Where  wisdom,  justice,  mercy,  shines; 

Infinite  rays  in  crossing  lines 
Beat  thick  confusion  on  my  sight,  and  overwhelm  my  soul. 

Great  God !  behold  my  reason  lies 
Adoring:  yet  my  love  would  rise 
On  pinions  not  her  own : 

Faith  shall  direct  her  humble  flight, 

Through  all  the  trackless  seas  of  light, 

To  Thee,  th’  Eternal  Fair,  the  Infinite  Unknown. 


GOD  MAKES  A  PATH 
Roger  W illiams 

God  makes  a  path,  provides  a  guide, 

And  feeds  a  wilderness ; 

His  glorious  name,  while  breath  remains, 
O  that  I  may  confess. 

Lost  many  a  time,  I  have  had  no  guide, 
No  house  but  a  hollow  tree ! 

In  stormy  winter  night  no  fire, 

No  food,  no  company; 

In  Him  I  found  a  house,  a  bed, 

A  table,  company; 

No  cup  so  bitter  hut’s  made  sweet, 

Where  God  shall  sweetening  be. 


1 86  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


b.  MODERN  FAITH 

THE  DOUBTER’S  PRAYER 
Anne  Bronte 

Eternal  Power,  of  earth  and  air ! 

Unseen,  yet  seen  in  all  around; 

Remote,  but  dwelling  everywhere ; 

Though  silent  heard  in  every  sound; 

If  e’er  thine  ear  in  Mercy  lent, 

When  wretched  mortals  cried  to  Thee, 
And  if  indeed,  Thy  Son  was  sent, 

To  save  lost  sinners  such  as  me: 

Then  hear  me  now,  while  kneeling  here, 
I  lift  to  thee  my  heart  and  eye, 

And  all  my  soul  ascends  in  prayer, 

Oh,  give  me — Give  me  Faith !  I  cry. 

While  Faith  is  with  me,  I  am  blest; 

It  turns  my  darkest  night  to  day; 

But  while  I  clasp  it  to  my  breast, 

I  often  feel  it  slide  away. 

Then,  cold  and  dark,  my  spirit  sinks, 

To  see  my  light  of  life  depart; 

And  every  friend  of  Hell,  methinks, 
Enjoys  the  anguish  of  my  heart. 

What  shall  I  do  if  all  my  love, 

My  hopes,  my  toil,  are  cast  away, 

And  if  there  be  no  God  above, 

To  hear  and  bless  me  while  I  pray? 

If  this  be  vain  delusion  all, 

If  death  be  an  eternal  sleep 
And  none  can  hear  my  secret  call, 

Or  see  the  silent  tears  I  weep ! 


FAITH 


187 


O  help  me  God !  for  Thou  alone 
Canst  my  distracted  soul  relieve ; 
Forsake  it  not,  it  is  Thine  own, 

Though  weak,  yet  longing  to  believe. 


WAITING 
John  Burroughs 

Serene,  I  fold  my  hands  and  wait, 

Nor  care  for  wind,  nor  tide,  nor  sea; 

I  rave  no  more  ’gainst  time  or  fate, 

For,  lo!  mine  own  shall  come  to  me. 

I  stay  my  haste,  I  make  delays, 

For  what  avails  this  eager  pace? 

I  stand  amid  the  eternal  ways, 

And  what  is  mine  shall  know  my  face. 

Asleep,  awake,  by  night  or  day, 

The  friends  I  seek  are  seeking  me ; 

No  wind  can  drive  my  bark  astray, 

Nor  change  the  tide  of  destiny. 

What  matter  if  I  stand  alone? 

I  wait  with  joy  the  coming  years; 

My  heart  shall  reap  where  it  has  sown, 

And  garner  up  its  fruit  of  tears. 

The  waters  know  their  own,  and  draw 
The  brook  that  springs  in  yonder  heights; 

So  flows  the  good  with  equal  law 
Unto  the  soul  of  pure  delights. 

The  stars  come  nightly  to  the  sky ; 

The  tidal  wave  comes  to  the  sea; 

Nor  time,  nor  space,  nor  deep,  nor  high, 

Can  keep  my  own  away  from  me. 


1 88  THE  WORLD'S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


THERE  IS  NO  UNBELIEF 

Elizabeth  York  Case 

There  is  no  unbelief ; 

Whoever  plants  a  seed  beneath  the  sod 
And  waits  to  see  it  push  away  the  clod — 

He  trusts  in  God. 

There  is  no  unbelief ; 

Whoever  says  when  clouds  are  in  the  sky, 

“Be  patient,  heart;  light  breaketh  by  and  by,” 
Trusts  the  Most  High. 

There  is  no  unbelief ; 

Whoever  sees  hieath  winter’s  field  of  snow, 

The  silent  harvest  of  the  future  grow — 

God’s  power  must  know. 

There  is  no  unbelief ; 

Whoever  lies  down  on  his  couch  to  sleep, 
Content  to  lock  each  sense  in  slumber  deep, 
Knows  God  will  keep. 

There  is  no  unbelief ; 

Whoever  says  “tomorrow,”  “the  unknown,” 
“The  future,”  trusts  the  power  alone 
He  dares  disown. 

There  is  no  unbelief ; 

The  heart  that  looks  on  when  the  eye-lids  close, 
And  dares  to  live  when  life  has  only  woes, 
God’s  comfort  knows. 

There  is  no  unbelief ; 

For  thus  by  day  and  night  unconsciously 
The  heart  lives  by  that  faith  the  lips  deny. 

God  knoweth  why ! 


FAITH 


189 


HOPE  EVERMORE  AND  BELIEVE 
Arthur  Hugh  Clough 

Hope  evermore  and  believe,  O  man,  for  e’en  as  thy  thought 
So  are  the  things  that  thou  seest;  e’en  as  thy  hope  and  belief. 
Cowardly  thou  art,  and  timid?  They  rise  to  provoke  thee 
against  them. 

Hast  thou  courage?  Enough,  see  them  exulting  to  yield. 

Yea,  the  rough  rock,  the  dull  earth,  the  wild  sea’s  furying 
waters 

(Violent,  sayst  thou,  and  hard,  mighty,  thinkst  thou,  to  destroy). 
All  with  ineffable  longing,  are  waiting  their  Invader, 

All,  with  one  varying  voice,  call  to  him,  Come  and  subdue;; 
Still  for  their  conqueror  call,  and  but  for  the  joy  of  being 
conquered 

(Rapture  they  will  not  forego)  dare  to  resist  and  rebel; 

Still,  when  resisting  and  raging,  in  soft  undervoice  say  to  him, 
Fear  not,  retire  not,  O  Man;  hope  evermore  and  believe. 

Go  from  the  east  and  the  west,  as  the  sun  and  stars  direct 
thee, 

Go  with  the  girdle  of  man,  go  and  encompass  the  earth. 

Not  for  the  gain  of  the  gold;  for  the  getting,  the  hoarding, 
the  having, 

But  for  the  joy  of  the  deed;  but  for  the  duty  to  do. 

Go  with  the  spiritual  life,  the  higher  volition  and  action, 

With  the  great  girdle  of  God,  go  and  encompass  the  earth. 

Go;  say  not  in  thy  heart,  And  what  then  were  it  accomplished, 
Were  the  wild  impulse  allayed,  what  were  the  use  or  the  good? 
Go,  when  the  instinct  is  stilled,  and  when  the  deed  is  accom¬ 
plished, 

What  thou  hast  done,  and  shalt  do,  shall  be  declared  to  thee, 
then. 

Go  with  the  sun  and  the  stars,  and  yet  evermore  in  thy  spirit 
Say  to  thyself:  It  is  good:  yet  there  is  oetter  than  it. 

This  that  I  see  is  not  all,  and  this  that  1  do  is  but  little; 
Nevertheless  it  is  good,  though  there  is  better  than  it. 


ipo  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

WITH  WHOM  IS  NO  VARIABLENESS,  NEITHER 

SHADOW  OF  TURNING 

Arthur  Hugh  Clough 

It  fortifies  my  soul  to  know 
That  though  I  perish,  truth  is  so ; 

That,  howsoe’er  I  stray  and  range, 

Whate’er  I  do,  Thou  dost  not  change. 

I  steadier  step  when  I  recall 
That,  if  I  slip,  Thou  dost  not  fall. 


ADRIFT 

Mrs.  Edward  Dowden 

Unto  my  faith  as  to  a  spar,  I  bind 

My  love — and  Faith  and  Love  adrift  I  cast 
On  a  dim  sea.  I  know  not  if  at  last 
They  the  eternal  shore  of  God  shall  find. 

I  know  that  neither  waves  nor  wind 

Can  sunder  them ;  the  cords  are  tied  so  fast 
That  faith  shall  never — doubts  and  dangers  past — 
Come  safe  to  land  and  Love  be  left  behind. 


THE  TIDE  OF  FAITH 
George  Eliot 

So  faith  is  strong 

Only  when  we  are  strong,  shrinks  when  we  shrink. 
It  comes  when  music  stirs  us,  and  the  chords, 

Moving  on  some  grand  climax,  shake  our  souls 
With  influx  new  that  makes  new  energies. 

It  comes  in  swellings  of  the  heart  and  tears 
That  rise  at  noble  and  at  gentle  deeds. 


FAITH 


191 


It  comes  in  moments  of  heroic  love, 

Unjealous  joy  in  joy  not  made  for  us; 

In  conscious  triumph  of  the  . good  within, 
Making  us  worship  goodness  that  rebukes. 

Even  our  failures  are  a  prophecy, 

Even  our  yearnings  and  our  bitter  tears 
After  that  fair  and  true  we  cannot  grasp. 
Presentiment  of  better  things  on  earth 
Sweeps  in  with  every  force  that  stirs  our  souls 
To  admiration,  self-renouncing  love. 


BRAHMA  ' 

Rat  ph  Waldo  Emerson 

If  the  red  slayer  think  he  slays, 

Or  if  the  slain  think  he  is  slain, 

They  know  not  well  the  subtle  ways 
I  keep,  and  pass,  and  turn  again. 

Far  or  forgot  to  me  is  near; 

Shadow  and  sunlight  are  the  same ; 

The  vanished  gods  to  me  appear; 

And  one  to  me  are  shame  and  fame. 

They  reckon  ill  who  leave  me  out ; 

When  me  they  fly,  I  am  the  wings; 

I  am  the  doubter  and  the  doubt, 

And  I  the  hymn  the  Brahmin  sings. 

The  strong  gods  pine  for  my  abode, 

And  pine  in  vain  the  sacred  Seven ; 

But  thou,  meek  lover  of  the  good ! 

Find  me,  and  turn  thy  back  on  heaven. 


THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


EACH  AND  ALL 

Ralph  Waldo  Emerson 

Little  thinks,  in  the  field,  yon  red-cloaked  clown 
Of  thee  from  the  hill-top  looking  down; 

The  heifer  that  lows  in  the  upland  farm, 
Far-heard,  lows  not  thine  ear  to  charm; 

The  sexton,  tolling  his  bell  at  noon, 

Deems  not  that  great  Napoleon 
Stops  his  horse  and  lists  with  delight, 

Whilst  his  files  sweep  round  yon  Alpine  height ; 

Nor  knowest  thou  what  argument 

Thy  life  to  thy  neighbor’s  creed  has  lent. 

All  are  needed  by  each  one; 

Nothing  is  good  or  fair  alone. 

I  thought  the  sparrow’s  note  from  heaven, 
Singing  at  dawn  on  the  alder  bough ; 

I  brought  him  home  in  his  nest  at  even ; 

He  sings  the  song  but  it  cheers  not  now, 

For  I  did  not  bring  home  the  river  and  sky; — 
He  sang  to  my  ear, — they  sang  to  my  eye. 


The  delicate  shells  lay  on  the  shore; 

The  bubbles  of  the  latest  wave 
Fresh  pearls  to  their  enamel  gave, 

And  the  bellowing  of  the  savage  sea 
Greeted  their  safe  escape  to  me. 

I  wiped  away  the  weeds  and  foam, 

I  fetched  my  sea-born  treasures  home ; 

But  the  poor,  unsightly,  noisome  things 
Had  left  their  beauty  on  the  shore. 

With  the  sun  and  the  sand  and  the  wild  uproar. 

The  lover  watched  his  graceful  maid, 

As  ’mid  the  virgin  train  she  strayed; 

Nor  knew  her  beauty’s  best  attire 
Was  woven  still  by  the  snow-white  choir. 


FAITH 


193 


At  last  she  came  to  his  hermitage, 

Like  the  bird  from  the  woodlands  to  the  cage; — 
The  gay  enchantment  was  undone, 

A  gentle  wife,  but  fairy  none. 

Then  I  said,  “I  covet  truth ; 

Beauty  is  unripe  childhood’s  cheat; 

I  leave  it  behind  with  the  games  of  youth.” — 
As  I  spoke,  beneath  my  feet 
The  ground-pine  curled  its  pretty  wreath, 
Running  over  the  club-moss  burrs; 

I  inhaled  the  violet’s  breath; 

Around  me  stood  the  oaks  and  firs; 

Pine-cones  and  acorns  lay  on  the  ground; 

Over  me  soared  the  eternal  sky, 

Full  of  light  and  of  deity; 

Again  I  saw,  again  I  heard, 

The  rolling  river,  the  morning  bird; — 

Beauty  through  my  senses  stole ; 

I  yielded  myself  to  the  perfect  whole. 


THE  STREAM  OF  FAITH 

William  Channing  Gannett 

From  heart  to  heart,  from  creed  to  creed, 
The  hidden  river  runs; 

It  quickens  all  the  ages  down, 

It  binds  the  sires  to  sons, — 

The  stream  of  Faith,  whose  source  is  God 
Whose  sound,  the  sound  of  prayer, 
Whose  meadows  are  the  holy  lives 
Upspringing  everywhere. 

And  still  it  moves,  a  broadening  flood; 

And  fresher,  fuller  grows. 

A  sense  as  if  the  sea  were  near 
Towards  which  the  river  flows. 


i94  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

O  thou  who  art  the  secret  Source 
That  rises  in  each  soul, 

Thou  art  the  Ocean,  too, — thy  charm, 

That  ever-deepening  roll ! 

DOUBT 

Fernand  Gregh 

From  Poets  of  Modern  France 

By  Ludwig  Lewisohn 

Upon  the  topmost  branches  dies 
A  last  ray  of  the  setting  sun; 

A  glimmer  of  strange  gilding  lies 
Upon  the  leaves’  vermilion. 

From  the  pale  sky  the  colors  fade 
’Tis  grey  even  as  grey  waters  are. 

There  glide  like  sudden  shafts  of  shade 
The  living  wings  of  birds  afar. 

From  all  things  comes  a  charm  so  deep. 

So  sweet  and  glad,  so  void  of  strife, 

Calm  as  the  peacefulness  of  sleep, 

Spreads  the  divinely  cosmic  life. 

The  sounds  of  the  far  city  roll 
On  fitful  winds  to  my  retreat — 

Why  falls  there  sudden  on  my  soul 
A  feeling  beyond  speaking  sweet? 

Dear  God,  how  all  the  sense  of  doom 
Vanishes  in  the  face  of  things! 

How  one  is  like  poor  men  to  whom 
Some  chance  a  day  of  feasting  brings ! 

How  one  adores  in  childlike  mood 
And  finds  thee  where  the  shadows  fall, 

Here  is  life’s  holy  amplitude 
Thee  who,  perhans  art  not  ^t  all ! 


FAITH 


195 


A  SONG  OF  DOUBT 

Josiah  Gilbert  Holland 

The  day  is  quenched,  and  the  sun  19  fled; 

God  has  forgotten  the  world ! 

The  moon  has  gone,  and  the  stars  are  dead: 
God  has  forgotten  the  world ! 

Evil  has  won  in  the  horrid  feud 

. 

Of  ages  with  the  throne ; 

Evil  stands  on  the  neck  of  Good, 

And  rules  the  world  alone. 

There  is  no  good :  there  is  no  God : 

And  faith  is  a  heartless  cheat 
Who  bares  the  back  for  the  devil's  rod 
And  scatters  thorns  for  the  feet. 

What  are  prayers  in  the  lips  of  death. 
Filling  and  chilling  with  hail? 

What  are  prayers  but  wasted  breath, 
Beaten  back  by  the  gale? 

The  day  is  quenched,  and  the  sun  has  fled; 

God  has  forgotten  the  world ! 

The  moon  is  gone  and  the  stars  are  dead, 
God  has  forgotten  the  world ! 


A  SONG  OF  FAITH 

% 

Josiah  Gilbert  Holland 

Day  will  return  with  a  fresher  boon; 

God  will  remember  the  world ! 
Night  will  come  with  a  newer  moon; 
God  will  remember  the  world ! 


t96  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


Evil  is  only  the  slave  of  good; 

Sorrow  the  servant  of  joy; 

And  the  soul  is  mad  that  refuses  food 
Of  the  meanest  in  God’s  employ. 

The  fountain  of  joy  is  fed  by  tears, 

And  love  is  lit  by  the  breath  of  sighs ; 

The  deepest  griefs  and  the  wildest  fears 
Have  holiest  ministries; 

Strong  grows  the  oak  in  the  sweeping  storm; 

Safely  the  flower  sleeps  under  the  snow; 
And  the  farmer’s  hearth  is  never  warm 
Till  the  cold  wind  starts  to  blow. 

Day  will  return  with  a  fresher  boon; 

God  will  remember  the  world ! 

Night  will  come  with  a  newer  moon; 

God  will  remember  the  world ! 


FAITH 

William  Dean  Howells 

If  I  lay  waste  and  wither  up  with  doubt 

The  blessed  fields  of  heaven  where  once  my  Faith 

Possessed  itself  serenely  safe  from  death; 

If  I  deny  the  things  past  finding  out; 

Or  if  I  orphan  my  own  soul  of  One 
That  seemed  a  Father,  and  make  void  the  place 
Within  me  where  He  dwelt  in  Power  and  Grace, 
What  do  I  gain  by  that  I  have  undone? 

THE  POET’S  SIMPLE  FAITH 
Victor  Hugo 

You  say,  “Where  goest  Thou?”  I  cannot  tell, 
And  still  go  on.  If  but  the  way  be  straight 
I  cannot  go  amiss :  before  me  lies 


FAITH 


197 


Dawn  and  the  day :  the  night  behind  me :  that 
Suffices  me :  I  break  the  bounds :  I  see, 

And  nothing  more ;  believe  and  nothing  less. 

My  future  is  not  one  of  my  concerns. 

Translated  by  Prof.  Edward  Dowden. 


DOUBT 

Helen  Hunt  Jackson 

They  bade  me  cast  the  thing  away, 

They  pointed  to  my  hands  all  bleeding, 
They  listened  not  to  all  my  pleading; 

The  thing  I  meant  I  could  not  say; 

I  knew  that  I  should  rue  the  day 
If  once  I  cast  that  thing  away. 

I  grasped  it  firm,  and  bore  the  pain; 
The  thorny  husks  I  stripped  and  scattered; 
If  I  could  reach  its  heart,  what  mattered 
If  other  men  saw  not  my  gain, 

Or  even  if  I  should  be  slain? 

I  knew  the  risks;  I  chose  the  pain. 

O,  had  I  cast  that  thing  away, 

I  had  not  found  what  most  I  cherish, 

A  faith  without  which  I  should  perish, — - 
The  faith  which,  like  a  kernel,  lay 
Hid  in  the  husks  which  on  that  day 
My  instinct  would  not  throw  away ! 


THE  BEGINNINGS  OF  FAITH 

Sir  Lewis  Morris 

All  travail  of  high  thought, 

All  secrets  vainly  sought, 

All  struggles  for  right,  heroic,  perpetually  fought; 


198  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

% 

Faint  gleams  of  purer  fire, 

Conquests  of  gross  desire, 

Whereby  the  fettered  soul  ascends  continually  higher; 

Pure  cares  for  love  or  friend 
Which  ever  upward  tend, 

Too  deep  and  heavenward  and  true  to  have  on  earth  their  end: 

Vile  hearts  malign  and  fell, 

Lives  which  no  tongue  may  tell, 

So  dark  and  dread  and  shameful  that  they  breathe  a  present 
hell; 

What  mountain,  deep-set  lake, 

Sea  wastes  which  surge  and  break, 

Fierce  storms  which,  roaring  from  the  north,  the  midnight 
forests  shake; 

Fair  morns  of  summer  days, 

Rich  harvest  eves  that  raise 

The  soul  and  heart  o’erburdened  to  an  ecstasy  of  praise; 

Low  whispers,  vague  and  strange, 

Which  through  our  being  range, 

Breathing  perpetual  presage  of  some  mighty  coming  change : 

These  in  the  soul  do  breed 
Thoughts  which,  at  last,  shall  lead 
To  some  clear,  firm  assurance  of  a  satisfying  creed. 


FAITH 

Alexander  Pope 

For  modes  of  faith  let  graceless  Zealots  fight; 
He  can’t  be  wrong  whose  life  is  in  the  right; 

In  faith  and  hope  the  world  will  disagree, 

But  all  mankind’s  concern  is  charity: 


FAITH 


All  must  be  false  that  thwart  this  one  great  end; 
And  all  of  God  that  bless  mankind,  or  mend. 
Man,  like  the  generous  vine,  supported  lives : 

The  strength  he  gains  is  from  the  embrace  he  gives. 


IF  THIS  WERE  FAITH 

Robert  Louis  Stevenson 

God,  if  this  were  enough, 

That  I  see  things  bare  to  the  buff 
And  up  to  the  buttocks  in  mire; 

That  I  ask  not  hope  nor  hire, 

Not  in  the  husk, 

Nor  dawn  beyond  the  dusk. 

Nor  life  beyond  death : 

God,  if  this  were  faith? 

Having  felt  thy  wind  in  my  face 
Spit  sorrow  and  disgrace, 

Having  seen  thine  evil  doom 
In  Golgotha  and  Khartoum, 

And  the  brutes,  the  work  of  thine  hands, 

Fill  with  injustice  lands 
And  stain  with  blood  the  sea: 

If  still  in  my  veins  the  glee 
Of  the  black  night  and  the  sun 
And  the  lost  battle,  run : 

If,  an  adept, 

The  iniquitous  lists  I  still  accept 

With  joy,  and  joy  to  endure  and  be  withstood, 

And  still  to  battle  and  perish  for  a  dream  of  good: 
God,  if  that  were  enough? 

If  to  feel,  in  the  ink  of  the  slough, 

And  the  sink  of  the  mire, 

Veins  of  glory  and  fire 

Run  through  and  transpierce  and  transpire, 


200  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRT 


And  a  secret  purpose  of  glory  in  every  part. 

And  the  answering  glory  of  battle  fill  my  heart; 

To  thrill  with  the  joy  of  girded  men 
To  go  on  forever  and  fail  and  go  on  again, 

And  be  mauled  to  the  earth  and  arise, 

And  contend  for  the  shade  of  a  word  and  a  thing  not  seen 
with  the  eyes; 

With  the  half  of  a  broken  hope  for  a  pillow  at  night 

That  somehow  the  right  is  the  right 

And  the  smooth  shall  bloom  from  the  rough : 

Lord,  if  that  were  enough? 


FAITH 
John  B.  Tabs 

In  every  seed  to  breathe  the  flower, 
In  every  drop  of  dew 
To  reverence  a  cloistered  star 
Within  the  distant  blue; 

To  wait  the  promise  of  the  bow 
Despite  the  cloud  between, 

Is  Faith — the  fervid  evidence 
Of  loveliness  unseen. 


From  IN  MEMORIAM 
Alfred  Tennyson 
Proem 

Strong  Son  of  God,  immortal  Love, 

Whom  we,  that  have  not  seen  thy  face, 
By  faith,  and  faith  alone,  embrace, 
Believing  where  we  cannot  prove; 

Thine  are  these  orbs  of  light  and  shade; 
Thou  madest  Life  in  man  and  brute ; 
Thou  madest  Death ;  and,  lo,  thy  foot 
Is  on  the  skull  which  thou  hast  made. 


FAITH 


201 


Thou  wilt  not  leave  us  in  the  dust : 

Thou  madest  man,  he  knows  not  why, 
He  thinks  he  was  not  made  to  die ; 
And  thou  hast  made  him:  thou  art  just. 

Thou  seemest  human  and  divine, 

The  highest,  holiest  manhood,  thou ; 

Our  wills  are  ours,  we  know  not  how: 
Our  wills  are  ours,  to  make  them  thine. 

Our  little  systems  have  their  day ; 

They  have  their  day  and  cease  to  be : 
They  are  but  broken  lights  of  thee, 

And  thou,  O  Lord,  art  more  than  they. 

W e  have  but  faith  :  we  cannot  know ; 

For  knowledge  is  of  things  we  see; 

And  yet  we  trust  it  comes  from  thee, 

A  beam  in  darkness :  let  it  grow. 

Let  knowledge  grow  from  more  to  more, 
But  more  of  reverence  in  us  dwell : 

That  mind  and  soul,  according  well, 
May  make  one  music  as  before, 

But  vaster.  We  are  fools  and  slight; 

We  mock  thee  when  we  do  not  fear: 
But  help  thy  foolish  ones  to  bear ; 

Flelp  thy  vain  worlds  to  bear  thy  light. 

Forgive  what  seemed  my  sin  in  me, 

What  seemed  my  worth  since  I  began; 
For  merit  lives  from  man  to  man, 

And  not  from  man,  O  Lord,  to  thee. 

Forgive  my  grief  for  one  removed, 

Thy  creature,  whom  I  found  so  fair, 

I  trust  he  lives  in  thee,  and  there 
I  find  him  worthier  to  be  loved. 


202  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


Forgive  these  wild  and  wandering  cries, 
Confusions  of  a  wasted  youth; 

Forgive  them  where  they  fail  in  truth, 
And  in  thy  wisdom  make  me  wise. 


THE  ANCIENT  SAGE 
Alfred  Tennyson 

Thou  canst  not  prove  that  thou  art  body  alone, 

Nor  canst  thou  prove  that  thou  art  spirit  alone, 

Nor  canst  thou  prove  that  thou  art  both  in  one, 
Thou  canst  not  prove  thou  art  immortal,  no. 

Nor  yet  that  thou  art  mortal — nay,  my  son, 

Thou  canst  not  prove  that  I,  who  speak  with  thee, 
Am  not  thyself  in  converse  with  thyself, 

For  nothing  worthy  proving  can  be  proven, 

Nor  yet  disproven.  Wherefore  thou  be  wise, 
Cleave  ever  to  the  sunnier  side  of  doubt, 

And  cling  to  Faith  beyond  the  forms  of  Faith ! 
She  reels  not  in  the  storm  of  warring  words. 

She  brightens  at  the  clash  of  ‘Yes’  and  ‘No,’ 

She  sees  the  best  that  glimmers  through  the  worst, 
She  feels  the  sun  is  hid  but  for  a  night, 

She  spies  the  summer  through  the  winter  bud, 

She  tastes  the  fruit  before  the  blossom  falls, 

She  hears  the  lark  within  the  songless  egg, 

She  finds  the  fountain  where  they  wailed  ‘Mirage !’ 


THE  HIGHER  PANTHEISM 
Alfred  Tennyson 

The  sun,  the  moon,  the  stars,  the  seas,  the  hills  and  the  plains, — 
Are  not  these,  O  Soul,  the  Vision  of  Him  who  reigns? 

Is  not  the  Vision  He?  Tho’  He  be  not  that  which  He  seems? 
Dreams  are  true  while  they  last,  and  do  we  not  live  in  dreams? 


FAITH 


203 


Earth,  these  solid  stars,  this  weight  of  body  and  limb, 

Are  they  not  sign  and  symbol  of  thy  division  from  Him? 

Dark  is  the  world  to  thee:  thyself  art  the  reason  why; 

For  is  He  not  all  but  thou,  that  hast  power  to  feel  “I  am  I?” 

Glory  about  thee,  without  thee;  and  thou  f ulfillest  thy  doom, 
Making  Him  broken  gleams  and  a  stifled  splendor  and  gloom. 

Speak  to  Him  thou  for  He  hears,  and  Spirit  with  Spirit  can 
meet — 

Closer  is  He  than  breathing,  and  nearer  than  hands  and  feet. 

God  is  law,  say  the  wise;  O  Soul,  and  let  us  rejoice, 

For  if  He  thunder  by  law  the  thunder  is  yet  His  voice. 


ADJUSTMENT 

John  Greenleaf  Whittier 

The  tree  of  Faith  its  bare  dry  boughs  must  shed 
That  nearer  heaven  the  living  ones  may  climb; 

The  false  must  fail,  though  from  our  shores  of  thne 
The  old  lament  be  heard, — “Great  Pan  is  dead!” 
That  wail  is  Error’s,  from  his  high  place  hurled; 
This  sharp  recoil  is  Evil  undertrod ; 

Our  time’s  unrest,  an  angel  sent  of  God, 

Troubling  with  life  the  waters  of  the  world, 

Even  as  they  list  the  winds  of  the  Spirit  blow 
To  turn  or  break  our  century-rusted  vanes; 

Sands  shift  and  waste;  the  rock  alone  remains 
Where,  led  of  Heaven,  the  strong  tides  come  and  go, 
And  storm-clouds,  rent  by  thunder-bolt  and  wind, 
Leave,  free  of  mist,  the  permanent  stars  behind. 

Therefore  I  trust,  although  to  outward  sense 
Both  true  and  false  seem  shaken ;  I  will  hold 
With  newer  light  my  reverence  for  the  old, 

And  calmly  wait  the  births  of  Providence. 


THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

No  gain  is  lost;  the  clear-eyed  saints  look  down 
Untroubled  on  the  wreck  of  schemes  and  creeds; 
Love  yet  remains,  its  rosary  of  good  deeds 
Counting  in  task-field  and  o’er  peopled  town; 

Truth  has  charmed  life;  the  Imvard  Word  survives, 
And,  day  by  day,  its  revelation  brings. 

Faith,  hope,  and  charity,  whatsoever  things 
Which  cannot  be  shaken,  stand.  Still  holy  lives 
Reveal  the  Christ  of  whom  the  letter  told, 

And  the  new  gospel  verifies  the  old. 

THE  WAITING 

John  Greenleaf  Whittier 

I  wait  and  watch :  before  my  eyes 

Methinks  the  night  grows  thin  and  gray; 

I  wait  and  watch  the  eastern  skies 
To  see  the  golden  spears  uprise 
Beneath  the  oriflamme  of  day ! 

Like  one  whose  limbs  are  bound  in  trance 
I  hear  the  day  sounds  swell  and  grow, 

And  see  across  the  twilight  glance, 

Troop  after  troop  in  swift  advance, 

The  shining  ones  with  plumes  of  snow ! 

I  know  the  errand  of  their  feet, 

I  know  what  mighty  work  is  theirs ; 

I  can  but  lift  up  hand  unmeet, 

The  threshing-floors  of  God  to  beat, 

And  speed  them  with  unworthy  prayers. 

I  will  not  dream  in  vain  despair 
The  steps  of  progress  wait  for  me : 

The  puny  leverage  of  a  hair 

The  planet’s  impulse  well  may  spare, 

A  drop  of  dew  the  tided  sea. 


FAITH 


205 


The  loss,  if  loss  there  be,  is  mine, 

And  yet  not  mine,  if  understood; 

For  one  shall  grasp  and  one  resign, 

One  drink  life’s  rue  and  one  its  wine, 
And  God  shall  make  the  balance  good. 

O  power  to  do  !  O  baffled  will ! 

O  prayer  and  action  !  ye  are  one  ! 

Who  may  not  strive  may  yet  fulfil 
The  harder  task  of  standing  still, 

And  good  but  wished  with  God  is  done ! 


THE  ETERNAL  GOODNESS 

John  Greenleaf  Whittier 

O  Friends  !  with  whom  my  feet  have  trod 
The  quiet  aisles  of  prayer, 

Glad  witness  to  your  zeal  for  God 
And  love  of  man  I  bear. 

I  trace  your  lines  of  argument; 

Your  logic  linked  and  strong 
I  weigh  as  one  who  dreads  dissent, 

And  fears  a  doubt  as  wrong. 

But  still  my  human  hands  are  weak 
To  hold  your  iron  creeds: 

Against  the  words  ye  bid  me  speak 
My  heart  within  me  pleads. 

Who  fathoms  the  Eternal  Thought? 

Who  talks  of  scheme  and  plan  ? 

The  Lord  is  God !  He  needeth  not 
The  poor  device  of  man. 

I  walk  with  bare,  hushed  feet  the  ground 
Ye  tread  with  boldness  shod; 

I  dare  not  fix  with  mete  and  bound 
The  love  and  power  of  God. 


206  THE  WORLD'S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


Ye  praise  His  justice;  even  such 
His  pitying  love  I  deem : 

Ye  seek  a  king;  I  fain  would  touch 
The  robe  that  hath  no  seam. 

Ye  see  the  curse  which  overbroods 
A  world  of  pain  and  loss; 

I  hear  our  Lord’s  beatitudes 
And  prayer  upon  the  cross. 

More  than  your  schoolmen  teach,  within 
Myself,  alas!  I  know: 

Too  dark  ye  cannot  paint  the  sin, 

Too  small  the  merit  show. 

I  bow  my  forehead  to  the  dust, 

I  veil  mine  eyes  for  shame, 

And  urge,  in  trembling  self-distrust, 

A  prayer  without  a  claim. 

I  see  the  wrong  that  round  me  lies, 

I  feel  the  guilt  within; 

I  hear,  with  groan  and  travail-cries, 

The  world  confess  its  sin. 

Yet,  in  the  maddening  maze  of  things, 
And  tossed  by  storm  and  flood, 

To  one  fixed  trust  my  spirit  clings; 

I  know  that  God  is  good ! 

Not  mine  to  look  where  cherubim 
And  seraphs  may  not  see, 

But  nothing  can  be  good  in  Him 
Which  evil  is  in  me. 

The  wrong  that  pains  my  soul  below 
I  dare  not  throne  above; 

I  know  not  of  His  hate, — I  know 
His  goodness  and  His  love. 


FAITH 


207 


I  dimly  guess  from  blessings  known 
Of  greater  out  of  sight, 

And,  with  the  chastened  Psalmist,  own 
His  judgments  too  are  right. 

I  long  for  household  voices  gone, 

For  vanished  smiles  I  long, 

But  God  hath  led  my  dear  ones  on, 
And  He  can  do  no  wrong. 

I  know  not  what  the  future  hath 
Of  marvel  or  surprise, 

Assured  alone  that  life  and  death 
His  mercy  underlies. 

And  if  my  heart  and  flesh  are  weak 
To  bear  an  untried  pain, 

The  bruised  reed  He  will  not  break, 
But  strengthen  and  sustain. 

No  offering  of  my  own  I  have, 

Nor  works  my  faith  to  prove; 

I  can  but  give  the  gifts  He  gave, 

And  plead  His  love  for  love. 

And  so  beside  the  Silent  Sea 
I  wait  the  muffled  oar; 

No  harm  from  Him  can  come  to  me 
On  ocean  or  on  shore. 

I  know  not  where  His  islands  lift 
Their  fronded  palms  in  air; 

I  only  know  I  cannot  drift 
Beyond  His  love  and  care. 

O  brothers !  if  my  faith  is  vain, 

If  hopes  like  these  betray, 

Pray  for  me  that  my  feet  may  gain 
The  sure  and  safer  way. 


208  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


And  Thou,  O  Lord !  by  whom  are  seen 
Thy  creatures  as  they  be, 

Forgive  me  if  too  close  I  lean 
My  human  heart  on  Thee ! 


C.  NEW  VOICES 


MY  FAITH 
Sri  Ananda  Acharya 


All  this  is  one 

Though  the  earth  is  dark  and  the  stars  are  bright, 

This  -is  my  faith :  there  is  a  hidden  light  in  man. 

Though  disease  we  fear  and  old  age  we  dread,  this  is  my  faith : 
the  soul  is  brave. 

Though  the  sun  of  life  has  risen  and  will  as  surely  set,  this 
is  my  faith:  the  sun  of  life  shines  ever  in  its  place, 
unmoving. 

Though  the  royal  swans  fly  and  the  storms  smite  their  head, 
this  is  my  faith :  they  will  reach  their  home  in  the  Mansa 
lake. 

% 

Though  the  mountains  stand  mute  and  the  birds  sing  merrily, 
this  is  my  faith :  the  pole-star  is  firm. 

Though  friends  greet  like  strangers  and  strangers  are  unkind, 
this  is  my  faith:  love  will  wake  in  their  souls. 

Though  all  men  have  different  faces,  different  minds,  this  is 
my  faith:  one  heart  moves  them  all. 

Though  atoms,  forces,  lives,  fates,  graces,  times,  each  from  the 
other  differs,  each  fighting  for  supremacy — this  is  my 
faith :  all  are  traveling,  under  the  cloud  of  unknowing¬ 
ness,  to  the 

All-souks  temple  of  rest. 


FAITH 


209 


VICTORY 

(Found  on  the  body  of  an  Australian  soldier) 

Ye  that  have  faith  to  look  with  fearless  eyes 
Beyond  the  tragedy  of  a  world  at  strife, 

And  know  that  out  of  death  and  night  shall  rise 
The  dawn  of  ampler  life : 

Rejoice,  whatever  anguish  rend  the  heart, 
That  God  has  given  you  the  priceless  dower 
To  live  in  these  great  times  and  have  your  part 
In  Freedom’s  crowning  hour, 

That  ye  may  tell  your  sons  who  see  the  light 
High  in  the  heavens — their  heritage  to  take — 
“I  saw  the  powers  of  darkness  take  their  flight; 
I  saw  the  morning  break.” 


HAVE  FAITH 
Edward  Carpenter 
Do  not  hurry;  have  faith. 

Remember  that  if  you  become  famous  you  can  never  share 
the  lot  of  those  who  pass  by  unnoticed  from  the  cradle  to  the 
grave,  nor  take  part  in  the  last  heroism  of  their  daily  life; 

If  you  seek  and  encompass  wealth  and  ease  the  divine  out¬ 
look  of  poverty  cannot  be  yours — nor  shall  you  feel  all  your 
days  the  loving  and  constraining  touch  of  Nature  and  Necessity; 

If  you  are  successful  in  all  you  do,  you  cannot  also  battle 
magnificently  against  odds; 

If  you  have  fortune  and  good  health  and  a  loving  wife  and 
children,  you  cannot  also  be  of  those  who  are  happy  without 
these  things. 

Covet  not  overmuch.  Let  the  strong  desires  come  and  go; 
refuse  them  not,  disown  them  not;  but  think  not  that  in  them 
lurks  finally  the  thing  you  want. 

Presently  they  will  fade  away  and  into  the  intolerable  light 
will  dissolve  like  gossamers  before  the  sun. 


2io  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


Do  not  hurry;  have  faith. 

(Whither  indeed  should  we  hurry?  is  it  not  well  here? 

A  little  shelter  from  the  storm,  a  stack  of  fuel  for  winter  use, 
A  few  handfuls  of  grain  and  fruit — 

And,  lo !  the  glory  of  all  the  earth  is  ours.) 

The  main  thing  is  that  the  messenger  is  perhaps  even  now  at 
your  door — and  to  see  that  you  are  ready  for  his  arrival. 

Likely  whoever  it  is  his  coming  will  upset  all  your  carefully 
laid  plans; 

Your  most  benevolent  designs  will  likely  have  to  be  laid  aside, 
and  he  will  set  you  to  some  quite  common-place  business, 
or  perhaps  of  dubious  character — 

Or  send  you  on  a  long  and  solitary  journey;  perhaps  he 
will  bring  you  letters  of  trust  to  deliver — perhaps  the  prince 
himself  will  appear — 

Yet  see  that  you  are  ready  for  his  arrival. 

Is  your  present  experience  hard  to  bear? 

Yet  remember  that  never  again  perhaps  in  all  your  days 
Will  you  have  another  chance  at  the  same. 

Do  not  fly  the  lesson,  but  have  a  care  that  you  maintain  it 
while  you  have  the  opportunity. 

On  all  sides  God  surrounds  you,  staring  out  upon  you  from 
the  mountains  and  from  the  face  of  the  rocks,  and  of  men,  and 
of  animals. 

Will  you  rush  past  forever  insensate  and  blindfold — hurrying 
breathless  from  one  unfinished  task  to  another,  and  to  catch  your 
ever-departing  trains — as  if  you  were  a  very  Cain  flying  from 
His  face? 

IN  THE  HOSPITAL 
Arthur  Guiterman 

Because  on  the  branch  that  is  tapping  my  pane 
A  sun-wakened,  leaf-bud  uncurled, 

Is  bursting  its  rusty  brown  sheathing  in  twain, 

I  know  there  is  spring  in  the  world. 


FAITH 


211 


Because  through  the  sky-patch  whose  azure  and  white 
My  window  frames  all  the  day  long, 

A  yellow  bird  dips  for  an  instant  of  flight, 

I  know  there  is  song. 

Because  even  here,  in  this  Mansion  of  Woe, 

Where  creep  the  dull  hours,  leaden-shod, 
Compassion  and  tenderness  aid  me,  I  know 
There  is  God. 


GOD  THE  ARCHITECT 
Harry  Kemp 

Who  Thou  art  I  know  not 
But  this  much  I  know; 

Thou  hast  set  the  Pleiades 
In  a  silver  row ; 

Thou  hast  sent  the  trackless  winds 
Loose  upon  their  way; 

Thou  hast  reared  a  colored  wall 
Twixt  the  night  and  day; 

Thou  hast  made  the  flowers  to  bloom 
And  the  stars  to  shine ; 

Hid  rare  gems  of  richest  ore 
In  the  tunneled  mine; 

But  chief  of  all  thy  wondrous  works 
Supreme  of  all  thy  plan, 

Thou  hast  put  an  upward  reach 
Into  the  heart  of  man. 


2i2  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


THE  DEAD  FAITH 
Fanny  Heaslip  Lea 

She  made  a  little  shadow-hidden  grave 
The  day  Faith  died; 

Therein  she  laid  it,  heard  the  clod’s  sick  fall. 
And  smiled  aside — 

“If  less  I  ask,”  tear-blind,  she  mocked,  “I  may 
Be  less  denied.” 

She  set  a  rose  to  blossom  in  her  hair, 

The  day  Faith  died — 

“Now  glad,”  she  said,  “and  free,  at  last,  I  go, 
And  life  is  wide.” 

But  through  long  nights  she  stared  into  the  dark,, 
And  knew  she  lied. 


From  THE  REBEL 

Irene  Rutherford  McLeod 

Beyond  the  murk  that  swallows  me 
There  is  an  Eye  that  follows  me, 

There  is  an  Ear  that  waits  and  strains 
To  catch  the  echoes  of  my  pains, 

There  is  a  Hand  outstretched  to  take 
Utmost  toll  for  each  mistake : 

These  Three  have  stalked  me  down  the  years 
To  mock  the  passion  of  my  tears. 

I  fling  you  scorn,  unholy  spy ! 

Though  living  give  my  faith  the  lie, 

Though  loving  clip  the  wings  of  Love, 
Though  men  humanity  disprove, 

Though  all  my  suns  and  moons  go  out, 
Though  tongues  of  all  the  ages  shout 
That  only  death  may  not  deceive — 

I’ll  not  believe  !  I’ll  not  believe  ! 


FAITH 


With  ardour  passionate  in  my  breath 
I'll  sing  my  undefeated  faith ! 

O  take  me,  break  me,  peaceless  life ! 
My  soul  was  born  to  welcome  strife ! 
O  sap  my  heart  of  its  deep  blood, 

If  blood  be  beauty’s  precious  food ! 
There  is  no  thing  I  would  not  give, 
There  is  no  hour  I  dare  not  live, 
There  is  no  hell  I’ll  not  explore 
To  find  a  hidden  heavenly  door ! 


SONNETS 
John  Masefield 

O  little  self,  within  whose  smallness  lies 
All  that  a  man  was,  and  is,  and  will  become, 

Atom  unseen  that  comprehends  the  skies 
And  tells  the  tracks  by  which  the  planets  roam. 
That,  without  moving,  knows  the  joy  of  wings, 

The  tiger’s  strength,  the  eagle’s  secrecy, 

And  in  the  hovel  can  consort  with  kings, 

Or  clothe  a  god  with  his  own  mystery. 

O,  with  what  darkness  do  we  cloak  thy  light, 

What  dusty  folly  gather  thee  for  food, 

Thou  who  alone  art  knowledge  and  delight, 

The  heavenly  bread,  the  beautiful,  the  good. 

O  living  self,  O  god,  O  morning  star, 

Give  us  thy  light,  forgive  us  what  we  are. 

If  I  could  get  within  this  changing  I, 

This  ever  altering  thing  which  yet  persists, 

Keeping  the  features  it  is  reckoned  by, 

.  While  each  component  atom  breaks  or  twists, 

If,  wandering  past  strange  groups  of  shifting  forms, 
Cells  at  their  hidden  marvels  hard  at  work. 

Pale  from  much  toil,  or  red  from  sudden  storms, 

I  might  attain  to  where  the  Rulers  lurk. 


214  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


If,  pressing  past  the  guards  in  those  grey  gates, 

The  brain’s  most  folded  intertwisted  shell, 

I  might  attain  to  that  which  alters  fates, 

The  King,  the  Supreme  Self,  the  Master  Cell, 

Then,  on  Man’s  earthly  peak,  I  might  behold 
The  unearthly  self  beyond,  unguessed,  untold. 

How  many  ways,  how  many  times 

The  tiger  Mind  has  clutched  at  what  it  sought, 

Only  to  prove  supposed  virtues  crimes, 

The  imagined  godhead  but  a  form  of  thought. 

How  many  restless  brains  have  wrought  and  schemed, 
Padding  their  cage,  or  built,  or  brought  to  law, 

Made  in  outlasting  brass  the  something  dreamed. 

Only  to  prove  themselves  the  things  of  awe. 

Yet,  in  the  happy  moment’s  lightning  blink 
Comes  scent,  or  track,  or  trace,  the  game  goes  by, 
Some  leopard  thought  is  pawing  at  the  brink, 

Chaos  below,  and  up  above,  the  sky. 

Then  the  keen  nostrils  scent,  about,  about, 

To  prove  the  Thing  within  a  Thing  Without. 

There  is  no  God,  as  I  was  taught  in  youth, 

Though  each,  according  to  his  stature,  builds 
Some  covered  shrine  for  what  he  thinks  the  truth, 
Which,  day  by  day,  his  reddest  heart-blood  gilds. 

There  is  no  God;  but  death,  the  clasping  sea, 

In  which  we  move  like  fish,  deep  over  deep, 

Made  of  men’s  souls  that  bodies  have  set  free, 

Floods  to  a  justice,  though  it  seems  asleep. 

There  is  no  God,  but  still,  behind  the  veil, 

The  hurt  thing  works,  out  of  its  agony. 

Still,  like  a  touching  of  a  brimming  Grail, 

Return  the  pennies  given  to  passers  by. 

There  is  no  God,  but  we,  who  breathe  the  air, 

Are  God  ourselves  and  touch  God  everywhere. 


FAITH 


215 


SENSE  AND  SPIRIT 
George  Meredith 

The  senses  loving  Earth  or  well  or  ill 
Ravel  yet  more  the  riddle  of  our  lot. 

The  mind  is  in  their  trammels,  and  lights  not 
By  trimming  fear-bred  tales;  nor  does  the  will 
To  find  in  nature  things  which  less  may  chill 
An  ardour  that  desires,  unknowing  what. 

Till  we  conceive  her  living  we  go  distraught, 

At  best  but  circle-windsails  of  a  mill. 

Seeing  she  lives,  and  of  her  joy  of  life 
Creatively  has  given  us  blood  and  breath 
For  endless  war  and  never  wound  unhealed, 

The  gloomy  Wherefore  of  our  battlefield 
Solves  in  the  Spirit,  wrought  of  her  through  strife 
To  read  her  own  and  trust  her  down  to  death. 


From  A  FAITH  ON  TRIAL 
George  Meredith 

‘The  dream  is  the  thought  in  the  ghost; 

‘The  thought  sent  flying  for  food; 

‘Eyeless,  but  sprung  of  an  aim 
‘Supernal  of  Reason,  to  find 
‘The  great  Over-Reason  we  name 
‘Beneficence  :  .mind  seeking  Mind. 

‘Dream  of  the  blossom  of  Good, 

‘In  its  waver  and  current  and  curve, 

‘With  the  hopes  of  my  offspring  enscrolled! 
‘Soon  to  be  seen  of  a  host 
‘The  flag  of  the  Master  I  serve ! 

‘And  life  in  them  doubled  on  Life, 

‘As  flame  upon  flame,  to  behold, 

‘High  over  Time-tumbled  sea, 

‘The  bliss  of  his  headship  of  strife, 

‘Him  through  handmaiden  me/ 


216  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


FAITH 

George  Santayana 

O  world,  thou  choosest  not  the  better  part ! 
It  is  not  wisdom  to  be  only  wise, 

And  on  the  inward  vision  close  the  eyes. 
But  it  is  wisdom  to  believe  the  heart. 
Columbus  found  a  world  and  had  no  chart, 
Save  one  that  faith  deciphered  in  the  skies; 
To  trust  the  soul’s  invincible  surmise 
Was  all  his  science  and  his  only  art. 

Our  knowledge  is  a  torch  of  smoky  pine 
That  lights  the  pathway  but  one  step  ahead 
Across  a  void  of  mystery  and  dread. 

Bid,  then,  the  tender  light  of  faith  to  shine 
By  which  alone  the  mortal  heart  is  led 
Unto  the  thinking  of  the  thought  divine. 


V.  God 

in  Nature 

a. 

IMMANENCE  IN  NATURE  IN  GENERAL 

b. 

THE  COUNTRY  FAITH 

c. 

TREES 

d. 

GARDEN  AND  FLOWERS 

e. 

ANIMALS 

f. 

THE  HEAVENS 

&• 

MOUNTAINS 

h. 

THE  OCEAN 

V.  God  in  Nature 


a.  IMMANENCE  IN  NATURE  IN  GENERAL 


HORA  CHRISTI 
Alice  Brown 

Sweet  is  the  time  for  joyous  folk 
Of  gifts  and  minstrelsy; 

Yet,  I,  O  lowly-hearted  One 
Crave  but  Thy  company, 

O  lonesome  road,  beset  with  dread, 

My  questing  lies  afar, 

I  have  no  light  save  in  the  east, 

The  gleaming  of  Thy  Star. 

In  cloistered  aisles  they  keep  today 
Thy  feast,  O  living  Lord ! 

With  pomp  of  banner,  pride  of  song, 

And  stately  sounding  word. 

Mute  stand  the  kings  of  power  and  place, 
While  priests  of  holy  mind 
Dispense  Thy  blessed  heritage 
Of  peace  to  all  mankind. 

I  know  a  spot  where  budless  twigs 
Are  bare  above  the  snow, 

And  where  sweet  winter-loving  birds 
Flit  softly  to  and  fro; 

There,  with  the  sun  for  altar-fire, 

The  earth  for  kneeling-place, 

The  gentle  air  for  chorister, 

Will  I  adore  Thy  face. 

219 


220  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


Lord,  underneath  the  great  blue  sky, 
My  heart  shall  pean  sing, 

The  gold  and  myrrh  of  meekest  love 
Mine  only  offering. 

Bliss  of  Thy  birth  shall  quicken  me, 
And  for  Thy  pain  and  dole 
Tears  are  but  vain,  so  I  will  keep 
The  silence  of  the  soul. 


REVELATION 

Alice  Brown 

From  The  Road  to  Castaly 

Down  in  the  meadow,  sprent  with  dew 
I  saw  the  Very  God 
Look  from  a  flower’s  limpid  blue, 

Child  of  a  starveling  sod. 


DISGUISES 

Thomas  Edward  Brown 

High  stretched  upon  the  swinging  yard, 

I  gather  in  the  sheet; 

But  it  is  hard 

And  stiff,  and  one  cries  haste. 

Then  He  that  is  most  dear  in  my  regard 
Of  all  the  crew  gives  aidance  meet ; 

But  from  His  hands,  and  from  His  feet, 

A  glory  spreads  wherewith  the  night  is  starred: 

Moreover  of  a  cup  most  bitter-sweet 
With  fragrance  as  of  nard, 

And  myrrh,  and  cassia  spiced, 

He  proffers  me  to  taste. 

Then  I  to  Him: — ‘Art  Thou  the  Christ?’ 

He  saith — ‘Thou  say’st.’ 


GOD  IN  NATURE 


221 


Like  to  an  ox 

That  staggers  ’neath  the  mortal  blow, 

She  grinds  upon  the  rocks : — 

Then  straight  and  low 

Leaps  forth  the  levelled  line,  and  in  our  quarter  locks. 
The  cradle’s  rigged;  with  swerving  of  the  blast 
We  go, 

Our  Captain  last — 

Demands 

‘Who  fired  that  shot?’  Each  silent  stands — 

Ah,  sweet  perplexity ! 

This  too  was  He. 

I  have  an  arbour  wherein  came  a  toad 
Most  hideous  to  see — 

Immediate,  seizing  staff  or  goad, 

I  smote  it  cruelly. 

Then  all  the  place  with  subtle  radiance  glowed — 

I  looked,  and  it  was  He ! 


Song  from  PIPPA  PASSES 

Robert  Browning 

The  year’s  at  the  spring 
The  day’s  at  the  morn; 
Morning’s  at  seven; 

The  hillside’s  dew-pearled; 
The  lark’s  on  the  wing; 

The  snail’s  on  the  thorn; 
God’s  in  his  heaven — 

All’s  right  with  the  world. 


THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


THE  HERETIC 
Bliss  Carman 

One  day  as  I  sa.t  and  suffered, 

A  long  discourse  upon  sin, 

At  the  door  of  my  brain  I  listened 
And  heard  this  speech  within: 

One  whisper  of  the  Holy  Ghost 

Outweighs  for  me  a  thousand  tomes; 

And  I  must  heed  that  private  word, 

Not  Plato’s,  Swedenborg’s,  nor  Rome’s. 

The  voice  of  beauty  and  of  power 
Which  came  to  the  beloved  John 

In  age  upon  his  lonely  isle, 

That  voice  I  will  obey,  or  none. 

Let  not  tradition  fill  my  ears 

With  prate  of  evil  and  of  good. 

Nor  superstition  cloak  my  sight 
Of  beauty  with  a  bigot’s  hood. 

Give  me  the  freedom  of  the  earth, 

The  leisure  of  the  light  and  air, 

That  this  enduring  soul  some  part 
Of  their  serenity  may  share ! 

The  word  that  lifts  the  purple  shaft 
Of  crocus  and  of  hyacinth 

Is  more  to  me  than  platitudes 

Rethundering  from  groin  and  plinth. 

And  at  the  first  clear,  careless  strain 

Poured  from  the  wood-bird’s  silver  throat 

I  have  forgotten  all  the  lore 

The  preacher  bade  me  get  by  rote. 


GOD  IN  NATURE 


223 


Beyond  the  shadow  of  the  porch, 

I  hear  the  wind  among  the  trees 
The  river  babbling  in  the  clove. 

And  the  great  sound  that  is  the  seas. 

Let  me  have  brook  and  flower  and  bird 
For  counselors,  that  I  may  learn 
The  very  accent  of  their  tongue, 

And  its  least  syllable  discern. 

For  I,  my  brother,  so  would  live 
That  I  may  keep  the  elder  law 
Of  beauty  and  of  certitude, 

By  daring  love  and  blameless  awe. 


SOME  KEEP  SUNDAY  GOING  TO  CHURCH 

\  _ 

Emily  Dickinson 

Some  keep  Sunday  going  to  church 
I  keep  it  staying  at  home, 

With  a  bobolink  for  a  chorister, 

And  an  orchard  for  a  throne. 

Some  keep  Sabbath  in  surplice, 

I  just  wear  my  wings 

And  instead  of  tolling  the  bell  for  church. 
Our  little  sexton  sings. 

God  preaches,  a  noted  clergyman, 

And  the  sermon  is  never  long, 

So  instead  of  going  to  heaven  at  last 
I'm  going  all  along. 


224  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


FORBEARANCE 

Ralph  Waldo  Emerson 

Hast  thou  named  all  the  birds  without  a  gun? 
Loved  the  wood-rose,  and  left  it  on  its  stalk? 

At  rich  men’s  tables  eaten  bread  and  pulse? 
Unarmed,  faced  danger  with  a  heart  of  trust? 
And  loved  so  well  a  high  behavior, 

In  man  or  maid,  that  thou  from  speech  refrained. 
Nobility  more  nobly  to  repay? 

O,  be  my  friend,  and  teach  me  to  be  thine ! 


GOOD-BYE,  PROUD  WORLD 

Ralph  Waldo  Emerson 

Good-bye,  proud  world  !  I’m  going  home  : 
Thou  art  not  my  friend,  and  I’m  not  thine. 
Long  through  thy  weary  crowds  I  roam; 

A  river-ark  on  the  ocean  brine, 

Long  I’ve  been  tossed  like  the  driven  foam; 
But  now,  proud  world !  I’m  going  home. 

Good-bye  to  Flattery’s  fawning  face; 

To  Grandeur  with  his  wise  grimace; 

To  upstart  Wealth’s  averted  eye; 

To  supple  Office,  low  and  high; 

To  crowded  halls,  to  court  and  street; 

To  frozen  hearts  and  hasting  feet; 

To  those  who  go  and  those  who  come; 
Good-bye,  proud  world !  I’m  going  home. 

I  am  going  to  my  own  hearth-stone. 

Bosomed  in  yon  green  hills  alone, — 

A  secret  nook  in  a  pleasant  land, 

Whose  groves  the  frolic  fairies  planned; 
Where  arches  green,  the  livelong  day, 


9 


GOD  IN  NATURE 


225 


Echo  the  blackbird’s  roundelay, 

And  vulgar  feet  have  never  trod 
A  spot  that  is  sacred  to  thought  and  God. 

O,  when  I  am  safe  in  my  sylvan  home, 

I  tread  on  the  pride  of  Greece  and  Rome; 
And  when  I  am  stretched  beneath  the  pines, 
Where  the  evening  star  so  holy  shines, 

I  laugh  at  the  lore  and  the  pride  of  man, 

At  the  sophist  schools  and  the  learned  clan; 
For  what  are  they  all,  in  their  high  conceit, 
When  man  in  the  bush  with  God  may  meet? 

MUSIC 

Ralph  Waldo  Emerson 

Let  me  go  where’er  I  will 
I  hear  a  sky-born  music  still : 

It  sounds  from  all  things  old, 

It  sounds  from  all  things  young, 

From  all  that’s  fair,  from  all  that’s  foul, 
Peals  out  a  cheerful  song. 

It  is  not  only  in  the  rose, 

It  is  not  only  in  the  bird, 

Not  only  where  the  rainbow  glows, 

Nor  in  the  song  of  woman  heard, 

But  in  the  darkest,  meanest  things 
There  alway,  alway  something  sings. 

’Tis  not  in  the  high  stars  alone, 

Nor  in  the  cup  of  budding  flowers, 

Nor  in  the  red-breast’s  mellow  tone, 

Nor  in  the  bow  that  smiles  in  showers, 

But  in  the  mud  and  scum  of  things 
There  alway,  alway  something  sings. 


226  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


WALDEINSAMKEIT 

Ralph  Waldo  Emerson 

I  do  not  count  the  hours  I  spend 
In  wandering  by  the  sea; 

The  forest  is  my  loyal  friend, 

Like  God  it  useth  me. 

In  plains  that  room  for  shadows  make 
Of  skirting  hills  to  lie, 

Bound  in  by  streams  which  give  and  take 
Their  colors  from  the  sky; 

Or  on  the  mountain-crest  sublime, 

Or  down  the  oaken  glade, 

O  what  have  I  to  do  with  time? 

For  this  the  day  was  made. 

Cities  of  mortals  woe-begone 
Fantastic  care  derides, 

But  in  the  serious  landscape  lone 
Stern  benefit  abides. 

Sheen  will  tarnish,  honey  cloy, 

And  merry  is  only  a  mask  for  sad, 

But,  sober  on  a  fund  of  joy, 

The  woods  at  heart  are  glad. 

There  the  great  Planter  plants 
Of  fruitful  worlds  the  grain, 

And  with  a  million  spells  enchants 
The  souls  that  walk  in  pain. 

Still  on  the  seeds  of  all  he  made 
The  rose  of  beauty  burns; 

Through  times  that  wear  and  forms  that  fade. 
Immortal  youth  returns. 


GOD  IN  NATURE 


227 


The  black  ducks  mounting  from  the  lake, 
The  pigeon  in  the  pines, 

The  bittern’s  boom,  a  desert  make 
Which  no  false  art  refines. 

Down  in  yon  watery  nook, 

Where  bearded  mists  divide, 

The  gray  old  gods  whom  Chaos  knew, 
The  sires  of  Nature,  hide. 

Aloft,  in  secret  veins  of  air, 

Blows  the  sweet  breath  of  song, 

O,  few  to  scale  those  uplands  dare, 
Though  they  to  all  belong ! 

See  thou  bring  not  to  field  or  stone 
The  fancies  found  in  books; 

Leave  authors’  eyes,  and  fetch  your  own, 
To  brave  the  landscape’s  looks. 

Oblivion  here  thy  wisdom  is, 

Thy  thrift,  the  sleep  of  cares; 

For  a  proud  idleness  like  this 
Crowns  all  thy  mean  affairs. 


HYMN  OF  THE  WORLD  WITHOUT 
Psalm  CIV 

From  Moulton’s  Modern  Readers’  Bible 

Bless  the  Lord,  O  my  soul. 

O  Lord  my  God,  thou  art  very  great; 

Thou  art  clothed  with  honour  and  majesty: 

Who  coverest  thyself  with  light  as  with  a  garment; 
Who  stretchest  out  the  heavens  like  a  curtain; 

Who  layeth  the  beams  of  his  chambers  in  the  waters; 
Who  maketh  the  clouds  his  chariot; 

Who  walketh  upon  the  wings  of  the  wind; 


228  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


Who  maketh  winds  his  messengers; 

His  ministers  a  flaming  fire. 

Who  laid  the  foundations  of  the  earth, 

That  it  should  not  be  moved  forever. 

Thou  coverest  it  with  the  deep  as  with  a  vesture; 

The  waters  stood  above  the  mountains. 

At  thy  rebuke  they  fled; 

At  the  voice  of  thy  thunder  they  hasted  away; 

They  went  up  by  the  mountains,  they  went  down  by  the  valleys, 
Unto  the  place  which  thou  hadst  founded  for  them. 

Thou  hast  set  a  bound  that  they  may  not  pass  over; 

That  they  turn  not  again  to  cover  the  earth. 

He  sendeth  forth  springs  into  the  valleys ; 

.  They  run  among  the  mountains : 

They  give  drink  to  every  beast  of  the  field ; 

The  wild  asses  quench  their  thirst. 

By  them  the  fowl  of  heaven  have  their  habitation, 

They  sing  among  the  branches. 

He  watereth  the  mountains  from  His  chambers : 

The  earth  is  satisfied  with  the  fruit  of  thy  works. 

He  causeth  the  grass  to  grow  for  the  cattle, 

And  herb  for  the  service  of  man. 

That  he  may  bring  forth  food  out  of  the  earth, 

And  wine  that  maketh  glad  the  heart  of  man, 

And  oil  to  make  his  face  to  shine, 

And  bread  that  strengtheneth  man’s  heart. 

The  trees  of  the  Lord  are  satisfied; 

The  cedars  of  Lebanon,  which  he  hath  planted : 

Where  the  birds  make  their  nests; 

As  for  the  stork,  the  fir  trees  are  her  house; 

The  high  mountains  are  for  the  wild  goats; 

The  rocks  are  a  refuge  for  the  conies. 

He  appointeth  the  moon  for  seasons : 

The  sun  knoweth  his  going  down. 

Thou  maketh  darkness,  and  it  is  night; 

Wherein  all  the  beasts  of  the  forest  do  creep  forth, 


GOD  IN  NATURE 


229 


The  young  lions  roar  after  their  prey, 
And  seek  their  meat  from  God. 

The  sun  ariseth,  they  get  them  away. 
And  lay  them  down  in  their  dens. 
Man  goeth  forth  unto  his  work 
And  to  his  labor  until  the  evening. 

O  Lord,  how  manifold  are  thy  works ! 
In  wisdom  hast  thou  made  them  all. 


OMNIPRESENCE 

Edward  Everett  Hale 

A  thousand  sounds,  and  each  a  joyful  sound; 

The  dragon  flies  are  humming  as  they  please, 

The  humming  birds  are  humming  all  around, 

The  clithra  all  alive  with  buzzing  bees, 

Each  playful  leaf  its  separate  whisper  found, 

As  laughing  winds  went  rustling  through  the  grove; 
And  I  saw  thousands  of  such  sights  as  these, 

And  heard  a  thousand  sounds  of  joy  and  love. 

And  yet  so  dull  I  was,  I  did  not  know 
That  He  was  there  who  all  this  love  displayed, 

I  did  not  think  how  He  who  loved  us  so 
Shared  all  my  joy,  was  glad  that  I  was  glad; 

And  all  because  I  did  not  hear  the  word 
In  English  accents  say,  “It  is  the  Lord.” 


THE  EPITAPH 

Katharine  Tynan  Hinkson 

Write  on  my  grave  when  I  am  dead, 
Whatever  road  I  trod 
That  I  admired  and  honoured 
The  wondrous  works  of  God. 


230 


THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

That  all  the  days  and  years  I  had, 

The  greatest  and  the  least, 

Each  day  with  grateful  heart  and  glad 
I  sat  me  to  a  feast. 

That  not  alone  for  body’s  meat 
Which  takes  the  lowest  place 

I  gave  Him  grace  when  I  did  eat 
And  with  a  shining  face. 

But  for  the  spirit  filled  and  fed 
That  else  must  waste  and  die, 

With  sun  and  stars  replenished 
And  dew  and  evening  sky. 

The  beauty  of  the  hills  and  seas 
Brimmed  that  immortal  cup; 

And  when  I  went  by  fields  and  trees 
My  heart  was  lifted  up. 

Lap  me  in  the  green  grass  and  write 
Upon  the  daisied  sod 

That  still  I  praised  with  all  my  might 
The  wondrous  works  of  God. 


IMMANENCE 
Richard  Hovey 

Enthroned  above  the  world  although  he  sit, 
Still  is  the  world  in  him  and  he  in  it; 

The  self-same  power  in  yonder  sunset  glows 
That  kindled  in  the  words  of  Holy  Writ. 


GOD  IN  NATURE 


231 


TRANSCENDENCE 
Richard  Hovey 

Though  one  with  all  that  sense  or  soul  can  see, 

Not  imprisoned  in  his  own  creations,  he, 

His  life  is  more  than  stars  or  winds  or  angels— 
The  sun  doth  not  contain  him  nor  the  sea. 


SONGS  OF  KABIR 
Kabir 

Translated  by  Rabindranath  Tagore 

Tell  me,  O  Swan,  your  ancient  tale. 

From  what  land  do  you  come,  O  Swan?  to  what  shore  will 
you  fly? 

Where  would  you  take  your  rest,  O  Swan,  and  what  do  you 
seek  ? 

Even  this  morning,  O  Swan,  awake,  arise,  follow  me ! 

There  is  a  land  where  no  doubt  nor  sorrow  have  rule :  where 
the  terror  of  Death  is  no  more. 

There  the  woods  of  spring  are  a-bloom,  and  the  fragrant  scent 
“He  is  I”  is  borne  on  the  wind: 

There  the  bee  of  the  heart  is  immersed,  and  desires  no  other 
joy. 

O  Lord  Increate,  who  will  serve  Thee? 

Every  votary  offers  his  worship  to  the  God  of  his  own  creation : 
each  day  he  receives  service — 

None  seek  Him,  the  Perfect:  Brahma,  the  Indivisible  Lord. 

They  believe  in  ten  Avatars;  but  no  Avatar  can  be  the  Infinite 
Spirit,  for  he  suffers  the  results  of  his  deeds: 

The  Supreme  One  must  be  other  than  this. 

The  Yogi,  the  Sanyasi,  the  Ascetics,  are  disputing  with  another: 

Kabir  says,  “O  brother !  he  who  has  seen  that  radiance  of  love, 
he  is  saved.” 


232  THE  WORLD'S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

The  river  and  its  waves  are  one  surf :  where  is  the  difference 
between  the  river  and  its  waves? 

When  the  wave  rises,  it  is  the  water;  and  when  it  falls,  it  is 
the  same  water  again.  Tell  me,  Sir,  where  is  the  dis¬ 
tinction  ? 

Because  it  has  been  named  as  wave  shall  it  no  longer  be  con¬ 
sidered  as  water? 

Within  the  Supreme  Brahma,  the  worlds  are  being  told  like 
beads : 

Look  upon  that  rosary  with  the  eyes  of  wisdom. 

Where  Spring,  the  lord  of  the  seasons,  reigneth,  there  the 
Unstruck  Music  sounds  of  itself, 

There  the  streams  of  light  flow  in  all  directions; 

Few  are  the  men  who  can  cross  to  that  shore ! 

There,  where  the  millions  of  Krishnas  stand  with  their  hands 
folded, 

Where  millions  of  Vishnus  bow  their  heads, 

Where  millions  of  Brahmas  are  reading  the  Vedas, 

Where  millions  of  Shivas  are  lost  in  contemplation, 

Where  millions  of  Indras  dwell  in  the  sky, 

Where  the  demi-gods  and  the  munis  are  unnumbered, 

Where  millions  of  Saraswatis,  Goddess  of  Music,  play  on  the 
vina — 

There  is  my  Lord  self-revealed :  and  the  scent  of  sandal  and 
flowers  dwells  in  those  deeps. 


THE  ANCIENT  THOUGHT 
Watson  Kerr 

The  round  moon  hangs  like  a  yellow  lantern  in  the  trees 
That  lie  like  lace  against  the  sky, 

Oh,  still  the  night !  Oh,  hushed  the  breeze — 

Surely  God  is  nigh. 


GOD  IN  NATURE 


233 


THE  MARSHES  OF  GLYNN 
Sidney  Lanier 

Glooms  of  the  live-oaks,  beautiful-braided  and  woven 

1 

With  intricate  shades  of  the  vines  that  myriad-cloven 
Clamber  the  forks  of  the  multiform  boughs, — 

Emerald  twilights, — 

Virginal  shy  lights, 

Wrought  of  the  leaves  to  the  whisper  of  vows, 

When  lovers  pace  timidly  down  through  the  green  colonnades 
Of  the  dim  sweet  woods,  of  the  dear  dark  woods, 

Of  the  heavenly  woods  and  glades, 

That  run  to  the  radiant  marginal  sand  beach  within 
The  wide  sea-marshes  of  Glynn; — 

Beautiful  glooms,  soft  dusks  in  the  noon-day  fire, — 
Wildwood  privacies,  closets  of  lone  desire, 

Chamber  from  chamber  parted  with  wavering  arras  of  leaves, — 
Cells  for  the  passionate  pleasure  of  prayer  to  the  soul  that 
grieves, 

Pure  with  a  sense  of  the  passing  of  saints  through  the  wood, 
Cool  for  the  dutiful  weighing  of  ill  with  good; — 

O  braided  dusks  of  the  oak  and  woven  shades  of  the  vine, 
While  the  riotous  noon-day  sun  of  the  June-day  long  did  shine 
Ye  held  me  fast  in  your  heart  and  I  held  you  fast  in  mine: 
But  now  when  the  moon  is  no  more,  and  riot  is  rest, 

And  the  sun  is  await  at  the  ponderous  gate  of  the  West, 

And  the  slant  yellow  beam  down  the  wood-aisle  doth  seem 
Like  a  lane  into  heaven  that  leads  from  a  dream, — 

Ay,  now,  when  my  soul  all  day  hath  drunken  the  soul  of  the 
oak, 

And  my  heart  is  at  ease  from  men,  and  the  wearisome  sound 
of  the  stroke 

Of  the  scythe  of  time  and  the  trowel  of  trade  is  low, 

And  belief  overmasters  doubt,  and  I  know  that  I  know, 

And  my  spirit  is  grown  to  a  lordly  great  compass  within, 
That  the  length  and  the  breadth  and  the  sweep  of  the  marshes 
of  Glynn 


234  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


Will  work  me  no  fear  like  the  fear  they  have  wrought  me 
of  yore 

When  length  was  fatigue,  and  when  breadth  was  bitterness 
sore, 

And  when  terror  and  shrinking  and  dreary  unnamable  pain 
Drew  over  me  out  of  the  merciless  miles  of  the  plain, — 

Oh,  now,  unafraid,  I  am  fain  to  face 
The  vast  sweet  visage  of  space. 

To  the  edge  of  the  wood  I  am  drawn,  I  am  drawn, 

Where  the  gray  beach  glimmering  runs,  as  a  belt  of  the  dawn, 
For  a  mete  and  a  mark 
To  the  forest-dark: — 

So : 

Affable  live-oak,  leaning  low, — 

Thus — with  your  favor — soft,  with  a  reverent  hand, 

(Not  lightly  touching  your  person,  Lord  of  the  land!) 

Bending  your  beauty  aside,  with  a  step  I  stand 
On  the  firm-packed  sand, 

Free 

By  a  world  of  marsh  that  borders  a  world  of  sea. 

Sinuous  southward  and  sinuous  northward  the  shimmering  band 
Of  the  sand  beach  fastens  the  fringe  of  the  marsh  to  the  folds 
of  the  land. 

Inward  and  outward  to  northward  and  southward  the  beach¬ 
lines  linger  and  curl 

As  a  silver-wrought  garment  that  clings  to  and  follows  the 
firm  sweet  limbs  of  a  girl. 

Vanishing,  swerving,  evermore  curving  again  into  sight, 
Softly  the  sand-beach  wavers  away  to  a  dim  gray  looping  of 
light. 

And  what  if  behind  me  to  westward  the  wall  of  the  woods 
stands  high 

The  world  lies  east :  how  ample,  the  marsh  and  the  sea  and  the 
sky ! 

A  league  and  a  league  of  marsh-grass,  waist-high,  broad  in 
the  blade, 

Green,  and  all  of  a  height,  and  unflecked  with  a  light  or  a 
shade, 


GOD  IN  NATURE 


235 


Stretch  leisurely  off,  in  a  pleasant  plain, 

To  the  terminal  blue  of  the  main. 

Oh,  what  is  abroad  in  the  marsh  and  the  terminal  sea? 

Somehow  my  soul  seems  suddenly  free 
From  the  weighing  of  fate  and  the  sad  discussion  of  sin, 

By  the  length  and  the  breadth  and  the  sweep  of  the  marshes 
of  Glynn. 

Ye  marshes,  how  candid  and  simple  and  nothing-withholding 
and  free 

Ye  publish  yourselves  to  the  sky  and  offer  yourselves  to  the  sea ! 
Tolerant  plains,  that  suffer  the  sea  and  the  rains  and  the  sun. 
Ye  spread  and  span  like  the  catholic  man  who  hath  mightily 
won 

God  out  of  knowledge  and  good  out  of  infinite  pain 
And  sight  out  of  blindness  and  purity  out  of  a  stain. 

As  the  marsh-hen  secretly  builds  on  the  watery  sod, 

Behold  I  will  build  me  a  nest  on  the  greatness  of  God : 

I  will  fly  in  the  greatness  of  God  as  the  marsh-hen  flies 
In  the  freedom  that  fills  all  the  space  ’twixt  the  marsh  and  the 
skies : 

By  so  many  roots  as  the  marsh-grass  sends  in  the  sod 
I  will  heartily  lay  me  a-hold  on  the  greatness  of  God : 

Oh,  like  to  the  greatness  of  God  is  the  greatness  within 
The  range  of  the  marshes,  the  liberal  marshes  of  Glynn. 

And  the  sea  lends  large,  as  the  marsh :  lo,  out  of  his  plenty 
the  sea 

Pours  fast :  full  soon  the  time  of  the  flood-tide  must  be : 

Look  how  the  grace  of  the  sea  doth  go 
About  and  about  through  the  intricate  channels  that  flow 
Here  and  there, 

Everywhere, 

Till  his  waters  have  flooded  the  uttermost  creeks  and  the  low- 
lying  lanes, 

And  the  marsh  is  meshed  with  a  million  veins, 

That  like  as  with  rosy  and  silvery  essences  flow 
In  the  rose-and-silver.  evening  glow. 

Farewell,  my  lord  Sun ! 


236  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

The  creeks  overflow :  a  thousand  rivulets  run 
’Twixt  the  roots  of  the  sod;  the  blades  of  the  marsh-grass 
stir; 

Passeth  a  hurrying  sound  of  wings  that  westward  whirr; 
Passeth  and  all  is  still;  and  the  currents  cease  to  run; 

And  the  sea  and  the  marsh  are  one. 

How  still  the  plains  of  the  waters  be ! 

The  tide  is  in  his  ecstasy. 

The  tide  is  at  his  highest  height: 

And  it  is  night. 

And  now  from  the  Vast  of  the  Lord  will  the  waters  of  sleep 
Roll  in  on  the  souls  of  men, 

But  who  will  reveal  to  our  waking  ken 
The  forms  that  swim  and  the  shapes  that  creep 
Under  the  waters  of  sleep? 

And  I  would  I  could  know  what  swimmeth  below  when  the  tide 
comes  in 

On  the  length  and  the  breadth  of  the  marvellous  marshes  of 
Glynn. 


A  STRIP  OF  BLUE 

Lucy  Larcom 

I  do  not  own  an  inch  of  land, 

But  all  I  see  is  mine, — 

The  orchards  and  the  mowing-fields, 
The  lawns  and  gardens  fine. 

The  winds  my  tax  collectors  are, 
They  bring  me  tithes  divine, — 
Wild  scents  and  subtle  essences, 

A  tribute  rare  and  free; 

And,  more  magnificent  than  all, 

My  window  keeps  for  me 
A  glimpse  of  blue  immensity, — 

A  little  strip  of  sea. 


GOD  IN  NATURE 


237 


Richer  am  I  than  he  who  owns 
Great  fleets  and  argosies; 

I  have  a  share  in  every  ship 
Won  by  the  inland  breeze, 

To  loiter  on  yon  airy  road 
Above  the  apple  trees. 

I  freight  them  with  my  untold  dreams; 

Each  bears  my  own  picked  crew ; 

And  nobler  cargoes  wait  for  them 
Than  ever  India  knew, — 

My  ships  that  sail  into  the  East 
Across  that  outlet  blue. 


Sometimes  they  seem  like  living  shapes, — 
The  people  of  the  sky, — 

Guests  in  white  raiment  coming  down 
From  heaven,  which  is  close  by; 

I  call  them  by  familiar  names. 

As  one  by  one  draws  nigh, 

So  white,  so  light,  so  spirit-like 
From  violet  mists  they  bloom! 

The  aching  wastes  of  the  unknown 
Are  half  reclaimed  from  gloom, 

Since  on  life’s  hospitable  sea 
All  souls  find  sailing  room. 


The  ocean  grows  a  weariness 
With  nothing  else  in  sight; 

Its  east  and  west,  its  north  and  south, 
Spread  out  from  morn  to  night; 

We  miss  the  warm,  caressing  shore, 

Its  brooding  shade  and  light. 

A  part  is  greater  than  the  whole ; 

By  hints  are  mysteries  told. 

The  fringes  of  eternity, — 

God’s  sweeping  garment-fold, 

In  that  bright  shred  of  glittering  sea, 

I  reach  out  for,  and  hold. 


238  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

The  sails,  like  flakes  of  roseate  pearl, 

Float  in  upon  the  mist; 

The  waves  are  broken  precious  stones, — 
Sapphire  and  amethyst, 

Washed  from  celestial  basement  walls, 

By  suns  unsetting  kissed. 

Out  through  the  utmost  gates  of  space. 

Past  where  the  grey  stars  drift, 

To  the  widening  Infinite,  my  soul 
Glides  on,  a  vessel  swift, 

Yet  loses  not  her  anchorage 
In  yonder  azure  rift. 

Here  I  sit  as  a  little  child 
The  threshold  of  God’s  door 
Is  that  clear  band  of  chrysoprase ; 

Now  the  vast  temple  floor, 

The  blinding  glory  of  the  dome 
I  bow  my  head  before. 

Thy  universe,  O  God,  is  home, 

In  height  or  depth,  to  me; 

Yet  here  upon  thy  footstool  green 
Content  I  am  to  be. 

Glad,  when  is  opened  unto  my  need 
Some  sea-like  glimpse  of  thee. 


From  THE  FIRE  BRINGER 
William  Vaughn  Moody 
Pandora  Speaks 

I  stood  within  the  heart  of  God; 

It  seemed  a  place  that  I  had  known: 

.  (I  was  blood-sister  to  the  clod, 
Blood-brother  to  the  stone.) 

I  found  my  love  and  labor  there, 

My  house,  my  raiment,  meat  and  wine, 


GOD  IN  NATURE 


239 


My  ancient  rage,  my  old  despair, — 

Yea,  all  things  that  were  mine. 

I  saw  the  spring  and  summer  pass, 

The  trees  grow  bare,  and  winter  come; 
All  was  the  same  as  once  it  was 
Upon  my  hills  at  home. 

Then  suddenly  in  my  own  heart 
I  felt  God  walk  and  gaze  about; 

He  spoke ;  His  words  seemed  held  apart 
With  gladness  and  with  doubt. 

‘'Here  is  my  meat  and  wine/’  He  said, 
“My  love,  my  toil,  my  ancient  care; 

Here  is  my  cloak,  my  book,  my  bed, 

And  here  my  old  despair ; 

“Here  are  my  seasons ;  winter,  and  spring, 
Summer  the  same,  and  autumn  spills 
The  fruits  I  look  for;  everything 
As  on  my  heavenly  hills. ” 


THE  WORD 
Richard  Realf 

O  Earth !  Thou  hast  not  any  wind  that  blows 
Which  is  not  music;  every  weed  of  thine 
Pressed  rightly  flows  in  aromatic  wine; 

And  humble  hedge-row  flower  that  grows, 

And  every  little  brown  bird  that  doth  sing, 

Hath  something  greater  than  itself,  and  bears 
A  living  word  to  every  living  thing, 

Albeit  holds  the  message  unawares. 

All  shapes  and  sounds  have  something  which  is  not 
Of  them:  a  spirit  broods  amid  the  grass; 

Vague  outlines  of  the  Everlasting  Thought 
Lie  in  the  melting  shadows  as  they  pass ; 

The  touch  of  an  eternal  presence  thrills 
The  fringes  of  the  sunsets  and  the  hills. 


THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


DUST 

George  William  Russell  (A.  E.) 

I  heard  them  in  their  sadness  say 

‘‘The  earth  rebukes  the  thought  of  God; 
We  are  but  embers  wrapped  in  clay, 

A  little  nobler  than  the  sod.” 

But  I  have  touched  the  lips  of  clay, 

Mother,  thy  rudest  sod  to  me 
Is  thrilled  with  fire  of  hidden  day, 

And  haunted  by  all  mystery. 


THE  GREAT  BREATH 

George  William  Russell  (A.  E.) 

Its  edges  foamed  with  amethyst  and  rose 
Withers  once  more  the  old  blue  flower  of  day: 
There  where  the  ether  like  a  diamond  glows 
Its  petals  fall  away. 

A  shadowy  tumult  stirs  the  dusky  air; 

Sparkle  the  delicate  dews,  the  distant  snows; 

The  great  deep  thrills,  for  through  it  everywhere 
The  breath  of  Beauty  blows. 

I  sawr  how  all  the  trembling  ages  past, 

Molded  to  her  by  deep  and  deeper  breath, 

Neared  to  the  hour  when  Beauty  breathes  her  last 
And  knows  herself  in  death. 


GOD  IN  NATURE 


241 


GOD  IS  AT  THE  ANVIL 


Lew  Sarett 

God  is  at  the  anvil,  beating  out  the  sun; 

Where  the  molten  metal  spills, 

At  His  forge  among  the  hills 
He  has  hammered  out  the  glory  of  a  day  that’s  done. 

God  is  at  the  anvil,  welding  golden  bars; 

In  the  scarlet-streaming  flame 
He  is  fashioning  a  frame 

For  the  shimmering  silver  beauty  of  the  evening  stars. 


MADONNA  NATURA 

William  Sharp  ( Fiona  Macleod ) 

I  love  and  worship  thee  in  that  thy  ways 
Are  fair,  and  that  the  glory  of  past  days 
Haloes  thy  brightness  with  a  sacred  hue. 
Within  thine  eyes  are  dreams  of  mystic  things, 
Within  thy  voice  a  subtler  music  rings 

Than  ever  mortal  from  the  keen  reeds  drew; 
Thou  weav’st  a  web  which  men  have  called  Death 
But  Life  is  in  the  magic  of  thy  breath. 

The  secret  things  of  Earth  thou  knowest  well ; 
Thou  seest  the  wild  bee  build  his  narrow  cell, 
The  lonely  eagle  wing  through  lonely  skies, 
The  lion  on  the  desert  roam  afar, 

The  glow-worm  glitter  like  a  fallen  star, 

The  hour-lived  insect  as  it  hums  and  flies; 
Thou  seest  men  like  shadows  come  and  go, 

And  all  their  endless  dreams  drift  to  and  fro. 

In  thee  is  strength,  endurance,  wisdom,  truth; 
Thou  art  above  all  mortal  joy  and  ruth, 


242 


THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

Thou  hast  the  calm  and  silence  of  the  night ; 
Mayhap  thou  seest  what  we  cannot  see, 

Surely  far  off  thou  hear’st  harmoniously 
Echoes  of  flawless  music  infinite, 

Mayhap  thou  feel’st  thrilling  through  each  sod 
Beneath  thy  feet  the  very  breath  of  God. 

Monna  Natura,  fair  and  grand  and  great, 

I  worship  thee,  who  art  inviolate : 

Through  thee  I  reach  to  things  beyond  this  span 
Of  mine  own  puny  life,  through  thee  I  learn 
Courage  and  hope,  and  dimly  can  discern 
The  ever  noble  grades  awaiting  man: 

Madonna,  unto  thee  I  bend  and  pray — 

Saviour,  Redeemer  thou,  whom  none  can  slay ! 

No  human  fanes  are  dedicate  to  thee, 

But  thine  the  temples  of  each  tameless  sea, 

Each  mountain  height  and  forest  glade  and  plain: 
No  priests  with  daily  hymns  thy  praises  sing, 

But  far  and  wide  the  wild  winds  chanting  swing, 
And  dirge  the  sea  waves  on  the  changeless  main, 
While  songs  of  birds  fill  all  the  fields  and  woods, 
And  cries  of  beasts  the  savage  solitudes. 

Hearken,  Madonna,  hearken  to  my  cry; 

Teach  me  through  metaphors  of  liberty, 

Till  strong  and  fearing  nought  in  life  or  death 
I  feel  thy  sacred  freedom  through  me  thrill, 

Wise,  and  defiant,  with  unquenched  will 

Unyielding,  though  succumb  the  mortal  breath — 
Then  if  I  conquer,  take  me  by  the  hand 
And  guide  me  onward  to  thy  Promised  Land! 


GOD  IN  NATURE 


243 


THE  VOICE  OF  GOD 

James  Stephens 

I  bent  unto  the  ground 
And  I  heard  the  quiet  sound 
Which  the  grasses  make  when  they 
Come  up  laughing  from  the  clay. 

“We  are  the  voice  of  God,”  they  said: 
Thereupon  I  bent  my  head 
Down  again  that  I  might  see 
If  they  truly  spoke  to  me. 

But  around  me  everywhere 
Grass  and  tree  and  mountain  were 
Thundering  in  a  mighty  glee, 

“We  are  the  voice  of  deity.” 

And  I  leapt  from  where  I  lay, 

I  danced  upon  the  laughing  clay, 

And  to  the  rock  that  sang  beside, 
“We  are  the  voice  of  God,”  I  cried. 


THE  WHISPERER 

James  Stephens 

The  moon  was  round, 

And  as  I  walked  along 
There  was  no  sound, 

Save  where  the  wind  with  long 
Low  hushes  whispered  to  the  ground 
A  snatch  of  song. 

No  thought  had  I 

Save  that  the  moon  was  fair, 

And  fair  the  sky, 

And  God  was  everywhere. 


244  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

I  chanted  as  the  wind  went  by 
A  poet’s  prayer. 

Then  came  a  voice — 

‘Why  is  it  that  you  praise 
And  thus  rejoice, 

O  stranger  to  the  ways 
Of  providence?  God  has  no  choice 
In  this  sad  maze. 

‘His  law  he  laid 

Down  at  the  dread  beginning, 

When  He  made 

The  world  and  set  it  spinning, 

And  his  casual  hand  betrayed 
Us  into  sinning. 

‘I  fashion  you, 

And  then  for  weal  or  woe, 

My  business  through, 

I  care  not  how  you  go, 

Or  struggle,  win  or  lose,  nor  do 
I  want  to  know. 

‘Is  no  appeal, 

For  I  am  far  from  sight, 

And  cannot  feel 

The  rigour  of  your  plight; 

And  if  ye  faint  just  when  ye  kneel, 

That,  too,  is  right. 

‘Then  do  not  sing, 

O  poet  in  the  night, 

That  everything 
Is  beautiful  and  right. 

What  if  some  wind  come  now  and  fling 
At  thee  in  spite?’ 

All  in  amaze 
I  listened  to  the  tone 
Mocking  my  praise : 

And  then  I  heard  the  groan 


GOD  IN  NATURE 


245 


That  old  tormented  nature  did  upraise 
From  tree  and  stone. 

And  as  I  went 
I  heard  it  once  again, 

That  harsh  lament : 

And  fire  came  into  my  brain; 

Deep  anger  unto  me  was  lent 
To  write  this  strain. 


AUTUMN 

Rabindranath  Tagore 

Today  the  peace  of  autumn  pervades  the  world. 

In  the  radiant  noon,  silent  and  motionless,  the  wide  stillness 
rests  like  a  tired  bird  spreading  over  the  deserted  fields 
to  all  horizons  its  wings  of  golden  green. 

Today  the  thin  thread  of  the  river  flows  without  song,  leaving 
no  mark  on  its  sandy  banks. 

The  many  distant  villages  bask  in  the  sun  with  eyes  closed  in 
idle  and  languid  slumber. 

In  the  stillness  I  hear  in  every  blade  of  grass,  in  every  speck 
of  dust,  in  every  part  of  my  own  body,  in  the  visible  and 
invisible  worlds,  in  the  planets,  the  sun,  and  the  stars,  the 
joyous  dance  of  the  atoms  through  endless  time — the  myriad 
murmuring  waves  of  Rhythm  surrounding  Thy  throne. 


FRAGMENT 
Henry  Vaughan 

Walk  with  thy  fellow-creatures:  note  the  hush 
And  whispers  among  them.  There  is  not  a  spring 
Or  leaf  but  hath  his  morning  hymn;  each  bush 
And  oak  doth  know  I  AM.  Canst  thou  not  sing? 
O  leave  thy  cares  and  follies !  go  this  way, 

And  thou  art  sure  to  prosper  all  the  day. 


246  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


ODE  IN  MAY 

William  Watson 

Let  me  go  forth,  and  share 
The  overflowing  Sun 
With  one  wise  friend,  or  one 
Better  than  wise,  being  fair, 

Where  the  pewit  wheels  and  dips 
On  heights  of  bracken  and  ling, 

And  Earth,  unto  her  leaflet  tips, 

Tingles  with  the  Spring. 

What  is  so  sweet  and  dear 

As  a  prosperous  morn  in  May, 

The  confident  prime  of  the  day, 

And  the  dauntless  youth  of  the  year, 
When  nothing  that  asks  for  bliss, 

Asking  aright,  is  denied, 

And  half  of  the  world  a  bridegroom  is, 
And  half  of  the  world  a  bride  ? 

The  Song  of  Mingling  flows, 

Grave,  ceremonial,  pure, 

As  once,  from  lips  that  endure, 

The  cosmic  descant  rose, 

When  the  temporal  lord  of  life, 

Going  his  golden  way, 

Had  taken  a  wondrous  maid  to  wife 
That  long  had  said  him  nay. 

For  of  old  the  Sun,  our  sire, 

Came  wooing  the  mother  of  men, 
Earth,  that  was  virginal  then, 

Vestal  fire  to  his  fire. 

Silent  her  bosom  and  coy, 

But  the  strong  god  sued  and  pressed; 
And  born  of  their  starry  nuptial  joy 
Are  all  that  drink  of  her  breast. 


GOD  IN  NATURE 


247 


And  the  triumph  of  him  that  begot, 

And  the  travail  of  her  that  bore, 

Behold  they  are  evermore 
As  warp  and  weft  in  our  lot. 

We  are  children  of  splendour  and  flame, 

Of  shuddering,  also,  and  tears. 

Magnificent  out  of  the  dust  we  came, 

And  abject  from  the  Spheres. 

O  bright  irresistible  lord ! 

We  are  fruit  of  Earth’s  womb,  each  one, 

And  fruit  of  thy  loins,  O  Sun, 

Whence  first  was  the  seed  outpoured. 

To  thee  as  our  Father  we  bow, 

Forbidden  thy  Father  to  see, 

Who  is  older  and  greater  than  thou,  as  thou 
Art  greater  and  older  than  we. 

Thou  art  but  as  a  word  of  his  speech, 

Thou  art  but  as  a  wave  of  his  hand; 

Thou  art  brief  as  a  glitter  of  sand 
’Twixt  tide  and  tide  on  his  beach; 

Thou  art  less  than  a  spark  of  his  fire, 

Or  a  moment’s  mood  of  his  soul : 

Thou  art  lost  in  the  notes  on  the*  lips  of  his  choir 
That  chant  the  chant  of  the  Whole. 


LINES  COMPOSED  A  FEW  MILES  ABOVE 
TINTERN  ABBEY 

William  Wordsworth 

The  sounding  cataract 
Haunted  me  like  a  passion;  the  tall  rock, 

The  mountain,  and  the  deep  and  gloomy  wood, 
Their  colors  and  their  forms,  were  then  to  me 
An  appetite;  a  feeling  and  a  love, 

That  had  no  need  of  a  remoter  charm, 

By  thought  supplied,  nor  any  interest 


248  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

Unborrowed  from  the  eye. — That  time  is  past, 

And  all  its  aching  joys  are  now  no  more, 

And  all  its  dizzy  raptures.  Not  for  this 
Faint  I,  nor  mourn,  nor  murmur;  other  gifts 
Have  followed;  for  such  loss,  I  would  believe, 
Abundant  recompense.  For  I  have  learned 
To  look  on  Nature,  not  as  in  the  hour 
Of  thoughtless  youth;  but  hearing  oftentimes 
The  still,  sad  music  of  humanity, 

Nor  harsh  nor  grating,  though  of  ample  power 
To  chasten  and  subdue.  And  I  have  felt 
A  presence  that  disturbs  me  with  the  joy 
Of  elevated  thoughts;  a  sense  sublime, 

Of  something  far  more  deeply  interfused, 

Whose  dwelling  is  the  light  of  setting  suns, 

And  the  round  ocean  and  the  living  air, 

And  the  blue  sky,  and  in  the  mind  of  man; 

A  motion  and  a  spirit,  that  impels 

All  thinking  things,  all  objects  of  all  thought, 

And  rolls  through  all  things.  Therefore  am  I  still 
A  lover  of  the  meadows  and  the  woods, 

And  mountains ;  and  of  all  that  we  behold 
From  this  green  earth;  of  all  the  mighty  world 
Of  eye  and  ear, — both  what  they  half  create, 

And  what  perceive;  well  pleased  to  recognize 
In  nature  and  the  language  of  the  sense, 

The  anchor  of  my  purest  thoughts,  the  nurse, 

The  guide,  the  guardian  of  my  heart,  and  soul 
Of  all  my  moral  being. 


THE  WORLD  IS  TOO  MUCH  WITH  US 

William  Wordsworth 

The  world  is  too  much  with  us :  late  and  soon, 
Getting  and  spending,  we  lay  waste  our  powers : 
Little  we  see  in  Nature  that  is  ours; 

We  have  given  our  hearts  away,  a  sordid  boon! 
This  sea  that  bares  her  bosom  to  the  moon ; 


GOD  IN  NATURE 


249 


The  winds  that  will  be  howling  at  all  hours, 

And  are  up-gathered  now  like  sleeping  flowers; 
For  this,  for  everything  we  are  out  of  tune; 

It  moves  us  not/ — Great  God !  I’d  rather  be 
A  Pagan  suckled  in  a  creed  outworn; 

So  might  I,  standing  on  this  pleasant  lea, 

Have  glimpses  that  would  make  me  less  forlorn; 
Have  sight  of  Proteus  rising  from  the  sea, 

Or  hear  old  Triton  blow  his  wreathed  horn. 


b.  THE  COUNTRY 


OUT  IN  THE  FIELDS  WITH  GOD 
Louise  Imogen  Guiney 

The  little  cares  that  fretted  me 
I  lost  them  yesterday, 

Among  the  fields  above  the  sea, 

Among  the  winds  at  play, 

Among  the  lowing  of  the  herds, 

The  rustling  of  the  trees, 

Among  the  singing  of  the  birds, 

The  humming  of  the  bees. 

The  foolish  fears  of  what  might  happen, 

I  cast  them  all  away 
Among  the  clover-scented  grass, 

Among  the  new-mown  hay, 

Among  the  husking  of  the  corn, 

Where  drowsy  poppies  nod 
Where  ill  thoughts  die  and  good  are  born— % 
Out  in  the  fields  with  God. 


250  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


THE  COUNTRY  FAITH 

Norman  Gale 

Here  in  the  country’s  heart 
Where  the  grass  is  green, 

Life  is  the  same  sweet  life 
As  it  e’er  hath  been. 

Trust  in  a  God  still  lives, 

And  the  bell  at  morn 
Floats  with  a  thought  of  God 
O’er  the  rising  corn. 

God  comes  down  in  the  rain, 
And  the  crop  grows  tall — 

This  is  the  country  faith, 

And  best  of  all ! 


FARMERS 

William  Alexander  Percy 

I  watch  the  farmers  in  their  fields 
And  marvel  secretly. 

They  are  so  very  calm  and  sure, 

They  have  such  dignity. 

They  know  such  simple  things  so  well, 
Although  their  learning’s  small, 

They  find  a  steady,  brown  content 
Where  some  find  none  at  all. 

And  all  their  quarrelings  with  God 
Are  soon  made  up  again ; 

They  grant  forgiveness  when  He  sends 
His  silver,  tardy  rain. 


GOD  IN  NATURE 


251 


Their  pleasure  is  so  grave  and  full 
When  gathered  crops  are  trim, 

You  know  they  think  their  work  was  done 
In  partnership  with  Him. 


c.  TREES 


GOOD  COMPANY 
Karle  Wilson  Baker 

Today  I  have  grown  taller  from  walking  with  the  trees, 

The  seven  sister-poplars  who  go  softly  in  a  line ; 

And  I  think  my  heart  is  whiter  for  its  parley  with  a  star 
That  trembled  out  at  nightfall  and  hung  above  the  pine. 

The  call-note  of  a  red  bird  from  the  cedars  in  the  dusk 
Woke  his  happy  mate  within  me  to  an  answer  free  and  fine; 
And  a  sudden  angel  beckoned  from  a  column  of  blue  smoke — 
Lord,  who  am  I  that  they  should  stoop — these  holy  folk  of 

thine f 


THE  HAPPY  TREE 
Gerald  Gould 

There  was  a  bright  and  happy  tree ; 

The  wind  with  music  laced  its  boughs, 
Thither  across  the  houseless  sea 
Came  singing  birds  to  house. 

Men  grudged  the  tree  its  happy  eves, 

Its  happy  dawns  of  eager  sound; 

So  all  that  crown  and  tower  of  leaves 
They  levelled  with  the  ground. 


25  2 


THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


They  made  an  upright  of  the  stem, 

A  crosspiece  of  a  bough  they  made: 
No  shadow  of  their  deed  on  them 
The  fallen  branches  laid. 

But  blithely,  since  the  year  was  young 
When  they  a  fitting  hill  did  find, 
There  on  the  happy  tree  they  hung 
The  Savior  of  mankind. 


OF  AN  ORCHARD 

Katharine  Tynan  Hinkson 

Good  is  an  orchard,  the  saint  saith, 

To  meditate  on  life  and  death, 

With  a  cool  well,  a  hive  of  bees, 

A  hermit’s  grot  below  the  trees. 

Good  is  an  orchard :  very  good, 

Though  one  should  wear  no  monkish  hood; 
Right  good  when  spring  awakes  her  flute, 
And  good  in  yellowing  time  of  fruit : 

Very  good  in  the  grass  to  lie 

And  see  the  net-work  ’gainst  the  sky, 

A  living  lace  of  blue  and  green 
And  boughs  that  let  the  gold  between. 

The  bees  are  types  of  souls  that  dwell 
With  honey  in  a  quiet  cell; 

The  ripe  fruit  figures  goldenly 
The  soul’s  perfection  in  God’s  eye. 

Prayer  and  praise  in  a  country  home 
Honey  and  fruit :  a  man  might  come 
Fed  on  such  meats  to  walk  abroad 
And  in  his  Orchard  talk  with  God. 


GOD  IN  NATURE 


253 


TREES 

Joyce  Kilmer 

I  think  that  I  shall  never  see 
A  poem  lovely  as  a  tree. 

A  tree  whose  hungry  mouth  is  pressed 
Against  the  earth’s  sweet  flowing  breast; 

A  tree  that  looks  at  God  all  day, 

And  lifts  her  leafy  arms  to  pray; 

A  tree  that  may  in  summer  wear 
A  nest  of  robins  in  her  hair; 

Upon  whose  bosom  snow  has  lain; 

Who  intimately  lives  with  rain.. 

Poems  are  made  by  fools  like  me, 

But  only  God  can  make  a  tree. 


A  BALLAD  OF  THE  TREES  AND  THE  MASTER 

Sidney  Lanier 

Into  the  woods  my  Master  went, 

Clean  forspent,  forspent. 

Into  the  woods  my  Master  came, 

Forspent  with  love  and  shame, 

But  the  olives  they  were  not  blind  to  Him; 

The  little  gray  leaves  were  kind  to  Him; 

The  thorn-tree  had  a  mind  to  Him, 

When  into  the  woods  He  came. 

» 

Out  of  the  woods  my  Master  went, 

And  He  was  well  content. 

Out  of  the  woods  my  Master  came, 

Content  with  death  and  shame. 

When  Death  and  Shame  would  woo  Him  last, 

From  under  the  trees  they  drew  Him  last: 


t 


•254  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

’Twas  on  a  tree  they  slew  Him — last 
When  out  of  the  woods  He  came. 


A  PRAYER 

Edwin  Markham 

Teach  me,  Father,  how  to  go 
Softly  as  the  grasses  grow; 
Hush  my  soul  to  meet  the  shock 
Of  the  wild  world  as  a  rock; 

But  my  spirit,  propped  with  power, 
Make  as  simple  as  a  flower. 


Teach  me,  Father,  how  to  be 
Kind  and  patient  as  a  tree. 
Joyfully  the  crickets  croon 

Under  the  shady  oak  at  noon; 
Beetle,  on  his  mission  bent, 

Tarries  on  that  cooling  tent. 

Let  me,  also,  cheer  a  spot, 

Hidden  field  or  garden  grot — 
Place  where  passing  souls  can  rest 
On  the  way  and  be  their  best. 


d.  GARDENS  AND  FLOWERS 


MY  GARDEN 

Thomas  Edward  Brown 

A  garden  is  a  lovesome  thing,  God  wot ! 
Rose  plot, 

Fringed  pool, 

Ferned  grot — 

The  veriest  school 
Of  peace :  and  yet  the  fool 


GOD  IN  NATURE 


255 


Contends  that  God  is  not — 

Not  God!  In  gardens!  When  the  eve  is  cool? 
Nay  but  I  have  a  sign: 

’Tis  very  sure  God  walks  in  mine. 


GOD’S  GARDEN 
Richard  Burton 

The  years  are  flowers  and  bloom  within 
Eternity’s  wide  garden; 

The  rose  for  joy,  the  thorn  for  sin, 

The  gardener,  God,  to  pardon 
All  wilding  growths,  to  prune,  reclaim, 
And  make  them  rose-like  in  His  name. 


AMONG  THE  FERNS 
Edward  Carpenter 
I  lay  among  the  ferns, 

Where  they  lifted  their  fronds,  innumerable,  in  the  greenwood 
wilderness,  like  wings  winnowing  the  air; 

And  their  voices  went  by  me  continually. 

And  I  listened,  and  Lo !  softly  inaudibly  raining  I  heard  not 
the  voices  of  the  ferns  only,  but  of  all  living  creatures: 
Voices  of  mountain  and  star, 

Of  cloud  and  forest  and  ocean, 

And  of  little  rills  tumbling  among  the  rocks, 

And  of  the  high  tops  where  the  moss-beds  are  and  the  springs 
arise. 

As  the  wind  at  midday  rains  whitening  over  the  grass, 

As  the  night-bird  glimmers  a  moment,  fleeting  between  the 
lonely  watcher  and  the  moon, 

So  softly  inaudibly  they  rained. 

While  I  sat  silent. 


256  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

% 

And  in  the  silence  of  the  greenwood  I  knew  the  secret  of  the 
growth  of  the  ferns ; 

I  saw  their  delicate  leaflets  tremble  breathing  an  undescribed 
and  unuttered  life; 

And,  below,  the  ocean  lay  sleeping; 

And  round  them  the  mountains  and  the  stars  dawned  in  glad 
companionship  forever. 

And  a  voice  came  to  me,  saying : 

In  every  creature,  in  forest  and  ocean,  in  leaf  and  tree  and  bird 
and  beast  and  man,  there  moves  spirit  other  than  its  mortal 
own, 

Pure,  fluid,  as  air — intense  as  fire, 

Which  looks  abroad  and  passes  along  the  spirits  of  all  other 
creatures,  drawing  them  close  to  itself, 

Nor  dreams  of  other  law  than  that  of  perfect  equality; 

And  this  is  the  spirit  of  immortality  and  peace. 

And  whatsoever  creature  hath  this  spirit,  to  it 

No  harm  can  befall,  for  wherever  it  goes  it  has  its  nested  home, 
and  to  it  every  loss  comes  charged  with  an  equal  gain; 

It  gives — but  to  receive  a  thousand-fold; 

It  yields  its  life — but  at  the  hands  of  love; 

And  death  is  the  law  of  its  eternal  growth. 

And  I  saw  that  was  the  law,  of  every  creature — that  this  spirit 
should  enter  in  and  take  possession  of  it, 

That  it  might  have  no  more  fear  nor  doubt  or  be  at  war  within 
itself  any  longer. 

And,  lo !  in  the  greenwood  all  around  me  it  moved, 

Where  the  sunlight  floated  fragrant  under  the  boughs, 

And  the  fern-fronds  winnowed  the  air; 

In  the  oak-leaves  dead  of  last  year,  and  the  small  shy  things 
that  rustled  among  them; 

In  the  songs  of  the  birds,  and  the  broad  shadowing  leaves 
overhead; 

In  the  fields  sleeping  below,  and  in  the  river  and  the  high 
dreaming  air; 

Gleaming  ecstatic  it  moved — with  joy  incarnate. 


GOD  IN  NATURE  257 

And  it  seemed  to  me,  as  I  looked,  that  it  penetrated  these  things, 
suffusing  them; 

And  wherever  it  penetrated,  behold !  there  was  nothing  left 
down  to  the  smallest  atom  which  was  not  winged  spirit 
instinct  with  life. 


Who  shall  understand  the  words  of  the  ferns  lifting  their 
fronds  unnumerable? 

What  man  shall  go  forth  into  the  world,  holding  his  life  in  his 
open  palm — 

With  high  adventurous  joy  from  sunrise  to  sunset — 

Fearless,  in  his  sleeve  laughing,  having  outflanked  his  enemies? 
His  heart  like  nature’s  garden — -that  all  men  abide  in — 

Free,  where  the  great  winds  blow,  rains  fall,  and  the  sun  shines, 
And  manifold  growths  come  forth  and  scatter  their  fragrance? 
Who  shall  be  like  a  grave,  where  men  may  bury 
Sin  and  sorrow  and  shame,  to  rise  in  the  new  day 
Glorious  out  of  their  grave  ?  who,  deeply  listening, 

Shall  hear  through  all  his  soul  the  voices  of  all  creation, 

Voices  of  mountain  and  star,  voices  of  old  men 
Softly  audibly  raining? — shall  seize  and  fix  them, 

Rivet  them  fast  with  love,  no  more  to  lose  them? 

Who  shall  be  that  spirit  of  deep  fulfillment, 

Himself,  self-centred?  Yet  evermore  from  that  centre 
Over  the  world  expanding,  along  all  creatures 
Loyally  passing — with  love,  with  perfect  equality? 

Him  immortality  crowns.  In  him  all  sorrow 

And  mortal  passion  of  death  shall  pass  from  creation. 

They  who  sit  by  the  road  and  are  weary  shall  rise  up 
As  he  passes.  Those  who  despair  shall  arise. 


Who  shall  understand  the  words  of  the  ferns  winnowing  the 
air  ? 

Death  shall  change  as  the  light  in  the  morning  changes: 
Death  shall  change  as  the  light  ’twixt  moonset  and ’dawn. 


258  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


THE  HOLY  OF  HOLIES 

Gilbert  K.  Chesterton 

“Elder  Father,  though  thine  eyes 
Shine  with  hoary  mysteries, 

Canst  thou  tell  what  in  the  heart 
Of  a  cowslip  blossom  lies?” 

“Smaller  than  all  lives  that  be, 

Secret  as  the  deepest  sea, 

Stands  a  little  house  of  seeds 
Like  an  elfin’s  granary.” 

“Speller  of  the  stones  and  weeds 
Skilled  in  Nature’s  crafts  and  creeds, 
Tell  me  what  is  in  the  heart 
Of  the  smallest  of  the  seeds.” 

“God  Almighty,  and  with  Him 
Cherubim  and  Seraphim, 

Filling  all  eternity, 

Adonai  Elohim!” 


CONSIDER  THE  LILIES 

William  Channing  Gannett 

He  hides  within  the  lily 
A  strong  and  tender  care, 
That  wins  the  earth-born  atoms 
To  glory  of  the  air : 

He  weaves  the  shining  garments 
Unceasingly  and  still, 

Along  the  quiet  waters, 

In  niches  of  the  hill. 


GOD  IN  NATURE 


259 


We  linger  at  the  vigil 

With  him  who  bent  the  knee, 

To  watch  the  old-time  lilies 
In  distant  Galilee ; 

And  still  the  worship  deepens 
And  quickens  into  new, 

As  brightening  down  the  ages 
God’s  secret  thrilleth  through. 

O  toiler  of  the  lily, 

Thy  touch  is  in  the  Man! 

No  leaf  that  dawns  to  petal 
But  hints  the  angel-plan. 

The  flower  horizon’s  open ! 

The  blossom  vaster  shows  ! 

We  hear  thy  wide  world’s  echo, — 

See  how  the  lily  grows  ! 

THE  LORD  GOD  PLANTED  A  GARDEN 

Dorothy  Frances  Gurney 

The  Lord  God  planted  a  garden 

In  the  first  white  days  of  the  world, 

And  He  set  there  an  angel  warden 
In  a  garment  of  light  enfurled. 

So  near  to  the  peace  of  Heaven, 

That  the  hawk  might  nest  with  the  wren, 

For  there  in  the  cool  of  the  even 
God  walked  with  the  first  of  men. 

And  I  dream j that  these  garden  closes 

With  their  shade  and  their  sun-flecked  sod 
And  their  lilies  and  bowers  of  roses, 

Were  laid  by  the  hand  of  God. 

The  kiss  of  the  sun  for  pardon, 

The  song  of  the  birds  for  mirth, — 

One  is  nearer  God’s  heart  in  a  garden 
Than  anywhere  else  on  earth. 


26 o  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


TO  A  DAISY 
Alice  Meynell 

Slight  as  thou  art,  thou  art  enough  to  hide 
Like  all  created  things,  secrets  from  me, 

And  stand  a  barrier  to  eternity, 

And  I,  how  can  I  praise  thee  well  and  wide 

From  where  I  dwell — upon  the  hither  side? 
Thou  little  veil  for  so  great  mystery, 

When  shall  I  penetrate  all  things  and  thee, 
And  then  look  back?  Fpr  this  I  must  abide, 

Till  thou  shalt  grow  and  fold  and  be  unfurled 
Literally  between  me  and  the  world. 

Then  shall  I  drink  from  in  beneath  a  spring, 

And  from  a  poet’s  side  shall  read  his  book. 

O  daisy  mine,  what  will  it  be  to  look 

From  God’s  side  even  of  such  a  simple  thing? 


TFIE  SECRET  GARDEN 
Robert  Nichols 

There  is  somewhere  a  Secret  Garden,  which  none  hath  seen 
In  a  place  apart 

But  amid  the  bramble-bound  world,  the  thicket,  the  screen 
To  the  ununderstanding  of  heart. 

There  is  somewhere  a  Secret  Garden,  where  none  hath  been, 
Where  Night  and  Day 

Commingle ;  where  the  sun  and  the  starlight’s  sheen 
Shines  ever;  where  ever  the  moony  fountains  play 
Lifting  their  lily-like  throats,  tossing  their  spray; 

Where  over  the  rainbow  meets  red-hued  serene ; 

Where  the  flame-dripping  branches  are  brighter  green; 

Where  the  Gardener  walks#  in  His  Garden  unheard,  unseen. 


GOD  IN  NATURE 


261 

There  is  somewhere  a  Secret  Garden :  a  door  in  a  wall, 

Opened:  how  shine  within 

Flower  and  fruit  and  torrent  of  blossoms  which  cannot  fall ! 
Whence  a  jubilant  din 

Floats  abroad  of  birds  of  scintillant  feather 
Swelling  ecstatic  throats  in  chorus  together; 

Or  the  cry  of  one,  crying  alone  a  sad  and  a  silver  call 
Rings  from  the  Secret  Garden  where  none  hath  been. 

There  everlastingly  the  Gardener  walks 
Unseen,  unmarked,  unheard 
Save  as  He  goes 

Humbled  and  hushed  and  happy  falls  each  bird, 

Each  fountain  throws 

Gentlier  upward,  changing  from  blue  to  rose, 

And  there  is  seen 

Glimpse  of  a  radiant  robe,  a  darkling  mien 

’Twixt  the  sheeted  light  and  the  sparkling  drift  where  it  blows. 

There  the  flowers  wait, 

Abasing  each  noble  head, 

Till  He  draw  nigh, 

Then  exalt  their  lovely  faces  to  Him,  rose  little,  rose  great, 
Flowers  of  pale  and  flowers  of  passionate  dye, 

Under  His  eye 

Till  softly  He  lift  a  hand  and  the  hand  is  spread 
Blessing  their  beauty,  their  peace  with  a  word  like  a  sigh. 

There  is  somewhere  a  Secret  Garden,  where  none  hath  been, 
Or,  glimpsed,  lost  to  his  grief, 

There  would  I  bide,  though  I  ever  abode  unseen : 

A  snail  or  a  stone  under  the  lowliest  leaf. 

THE  GARDEN 
Rose  Parkwood 

Two  of  Thy  children  one  summer  day  worked  in  their  garden, 
Lord ; 

They  chopped  the  weeds  of  yesterday  and  you  sent-  down  a 
golden  smile. 


262  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


Two  of  Thy  children  one  sunny  day  worked  in  their  garden. 
Lord ; 

They  hoed  the  furrow  straight  for  the  earthy  bed  and  you 
whispered  a  singing  smile. 

Two  of  Thy  children  one  windy  day  worked  in  their  garden. 
Lord; 

They  pressed  out  the  lumps  from  the  clayey  soil  and  you  closed 
your  shining  eyes; 

Two  of  Thy  children  one  cloudy  day  worked  in  their  garden. 
Lord ; 

They  dropped  in  the  seeds  with  a  song  in  their  hearts  and  you 
sent  a  soothing  tear. 

Two  of  Thy  children  one  rainy  day  turned  from  their  garden, 
Lord — 

Your  Smile  and  your  Sigh  and  your  Tear  entered  into  their 
hearts. 

Two  of  Thy  children  all  the  days  of  their  life  will  work  in  Thy 
Garden,  Lord ! 


I  SEE  HIS  BLOOD  UPON  THE  ROSE 

Joseph  Mary  Plunkett 

I  see  His  blood  upon  the  rose 

And  in  the  stars  the  glory  of  His  eyes. 

His  body  gleams  amid  eternal  snows 
His  tears  fall  from  the  skies. 

I  see  His  face  in  every  flower; 

The  thunder  and  the  surging  of  the  birds 
Are  but  His  voice — and  carven  by  His  power 
Rocks  are  His  written  words. 

All  pathways  by  His  feet  are  worn, 

His  strong  heart  stirs  the  ever-beating  sea, 
His  crown  of  thorns  is  twined  with  every  thorn 
His  cross  is  every  tree. 


GOD  IN  NATURE 


263 


FLOWER  IN  THE  CRANNIED  WALL 

Alfred  Tennyson 

Flower  in  the  crannied  wall, 

I  pluck  you  out  of  the  crannies; — 

Hold  you  here,  root  and  all,  in  my  hand, 
Little  flower — but  if  I  could  understand 
What  you  are,  root  and  all,  and  all  in  all, 

I  should  know  what  God  and  man  is. 


e.  ANIMALS 

From  AUGURIES  OF  INNOCENCE 
William  Blake 

To  see  the  world  in  a  grain  of  sand, 

And  a  Heaven  in  a  wild  flower, 

Hold  Infinity  in  the  palm  of  your  hand, 

And  Eternity  in  an  hour. 

A  robin  redbreast  in  a  cage 
Puts  all  Heaven  in  a  rage. 

A  dove-house  fill’d  with  doves  and  pigeons 
Shudders  Hell  through  all  its  regions. 

A  dog  starved  at  his  master’s  gate 
Predicts  the  ruin  of  the  State. 

A  horse  misus’d  upon  the  road 
Calls  to  Heaven  for  human  blood. 

Each  outcry  of  the  hunted  hare 
A  fibre  from  the  brain  does  tear. 

A  skylark  wounded  on  the  wing, 

Doth  make  a  cherub  cease  to  sing. 

•  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  ■  • 

A  riddle  or  the  cricket’s  cry, 

Is  to  doubt  a  fit  reply. 


264  THE  WORLD’S '  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

The  emmet’s  inch  and  eagle’s  mile 
Make  lame  Philosophy  to  smile. 

He  who  doubts  from  what  he  sees 
Will  ne’er  believe,  do  what  you  please. 

If  the  sun  and  moon  should  doubt, 

They’d  immediately  go  out. 

•  ••••••*# 

God  appears  and  God  is  Light, 

To  those  poor  souls  who  dwell  in  night; 

But  does  a  human  form  display 
To  those  who  dwell  in  realms  of  Day. 


THE  LAMB 

William  Blake 

Little  lamb,  who  made  thee? 

Dost  thou  know  who  made  thee? 
Gave  thee  life  and  bade  thee  feed 
By  the  stream  and  o’er  the  mead; 
Gave  thee  clothing  of  delight, 
Softest  clothing,  woolly,  bright; 
Gave  thee  such  a  tender  voice, 
Making  all  the  vales  rejoice? 

Little  lamb,  who  made  thee? 

Dost  thou  know  who  made  thee? 

Little  lamb,  I’ll  tell  thee ; 

Little  lamb,  I’ll  tell  thee; 

He  is  called  by  thy  name, 

For  he  calls  himself  a  lamb. 

He  is  meek  and  he  is  mild, 

He  became  a  little  child, — 

I  a  child  and  thou  a  lamb, 

We  are  called  by  his  name. 

Little  lamb,  God  bless  thee ! 

Little  lamb,  God  bless  thee ! 


GOD  IN  NATURE 


265 


THE  TIGER 

William  Blake 

Tiger,  tiger,  burning  bright 
In  the  forests  of  the  night, 

What  immortal  hand  or  eye 
Could  frame  thy  fearful  symmetry? 

In  what  distant  deeps  or  skies 
Burnt  the  fire  of  thine  eyes  ? 

On  what  wings  dare  he  aspire  ? 

What  the  hand  dare  seize  the  fire? 

And  what  shoulder  and  what  art 
Could  twist  the  sinews  of  thy  heart? 
And,  when  thy  heart  began  to  beat, 

What  dread  hand  and  what  dread  feet? 

What  the  hammer?  What  the  chain? 

In  what  furnace  was  thy  brain? 

What  the  anvil  ?  What  dread  grasp 
Dare  its  deadly  terrors  clasp? 

When  the  stars  threw  down  their  spears, 
And  watered  heaven  with  their  tears, 
Did  he  smile  his  work  to  see? 

Did  he  who  made  the  lamb  make  thee? 

Tiger,  tiger,  burning  bright 
In  the  forests  of  the  night. 

What  immortal  hand  or  eye 
Dare  frame  thy  fearful  symmetry? 


266  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


TO  A  WATERFOWL 
William  Cullen  Bryant 
Whither,  midst  falling  dew, 

While  glow  the  heavens  with  the  last  steps  of  day, 
Far,  through  their  rosy  depths,  dost  thou  pursue 
Thy  solitary  way? 

Vainly  the  fowler’s  eye 

Might  mark  thy  distant  flight  to  do  thee  wrong, 
As,  darkly  painted  on  the  crimson  sky, 

Thy  figure  floats  along. 

Seek’st  thou  the  plashy  brink 
Of  weedy  lake,  or  marge  of  river  wide, 

Or  where  the  rocking  billows  rise  and  sink 
On  the  chafed  ocean-side  ? 

There  is  a  Power  whose  care 

Teaches  thy  way  along  that  pathless  coast — 

The  desert  and  illimitable  air — 

Lone  wandering,  but  not  lost. 

All  day  thy  wings  have  fanned, 

At  that  far  height,  the  cold,  thin  atmosphere, 

Yet  stoop  not,  weary,  to  the  welcome  land, 
Though  the  dark  night  is  near. 

And  soon  that  toil  shall  end ; 

Soon  shalt  thou  find  a  summer  home,  and  rest, 
And  scream  among  thy  fellows;  reeds  shall  bend, 
Soon  o’er  thy  sheltered  nest. 

Thou’rt  gone,  the  abyss  of  heaven 

Hath  swallowed  up  thy  form;  yet,  on  my  heart 

Deeply  has  sunk  the  lesson  thou  hast  given, 

And  shall  not  soon  depart. 


GOD  IN  NATURE 


267 


He  who,  from  zone  to  zone, 

Guides  through  the  boundless  sky  thy  certain  flight, 
In  the  long  way  that  I  must  tread  alone, 

Will  lead  my  steps  aright. 


THE  SONGS  OF  THE  BIRDS 
Edward  Carpenter 

The  rocks  flow  and  the  mountain  shapes  flow, 

And  the  forests  swim  over  the  lands  like  cloud-shadows. 

The  lines  of  the  seeming  everlasting  sea  are  changed, 

And  its  waves  beat  on  unmapped  phantom  shores : 

'Not  here,  not  here !’ 

All  creatures  fade  from  the  embraces  of  their  names, 

(And  you  and  I  slow,  slowly  disentangling,) 

The  delicate  hairbells  quivering  in  the  light, 

The  gorse,  the  heather  and  the  fox-gloves  tall, 

The  meadows  and  the  river,  rolling,  fade : 

Fade  from  their  likenesses:  fade  crying,  'Follow! 

Follow,  forever  follow  V 
Who  hears?  who  sees? 

Who  hears  the  word  of  Nature? 

The  word  of  her  eternal  breathing,  whispered  wherever  one 
shall  listen, 

The  word  of  the  birds  in  the  high  trees  calling, 

Of  the  wind  running  over  the  grass, 

The  word  of  the  glad  prisoners,  the  tender  footless  creatures, 
the  plants  of  the  earth, 

Rushing,  too,  bright-eyed,  out'of  their  momentary  masks ! 

‘Not  here  !  Not  here  !’ 

But  over  all  the  world,  shadowing,  shadowing: 

The  dream !  the  vast  and  ever-present  miracle  of  all  time ! 

The  long  forgotten,  never  forgotten  goal ! 

Over  your  own  heart,  out  of  its  secretest  depths : 

In  crystalline  beauty ! 

Out  of  all  creatures,  cloud  and  mountain  and  river: 

Exhaling,  ascending! 


268  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


From  plant  and  bird  and  man  and  planet  up-pouring: 
Thousand-formed,  One, 

The  ever-present,  only  present  reality,  source  of  all  illusion, 
The  Self,  the  disclosure,  the  transfiguration  of  each  creature, 
And  goal  of  its  age-long  pilgrimage. 


TLIE  DONKEY 
Gilbert  K.  Chesterton 

When  fishes  flew  and  forests  walked 
And  figs  grew  upon  thorn, 

Some  moment  when  the  moon  was  blood 
Then  surely  I  was  born: 

With  monstrous  head  and  sickening  cry 
And  ears  like  errant  wings, 

The  devil’s  walking  parody 
On  all  four-footed  things; 

The  tattered  outlaw  of  the  earth 
Of  ancient  crooked  will : 

Starve,  scourge,  deride  me :  I  am  dumb, 

I  keep  my  secret  still. 

Fools!  For  I  also  had  my  hour; 

One  far  fierce  hour  and  sweet: 

There  was  a  shout  about  my  ears, 

And  palms  before  my  feet. 

TO  A  DOG 

Josephine  Preston  Peabody 

So,  back  again? 

— And  is  your  errand  done, 

Unfailing  one  ? 

How  quick  the  gray  world,  at  your  morning  look, 
Turns  wonder-book!  , 


GOD  IN  NATURE 


269 


Come  in, — O  guard  and  guest; 

Come  O  you  breathless  from  a  life-long  quest ! 
Search  here  my  heart;  and  if  a  comfort  be, 

Ah,  comfort  me ! 

You  eloquent  one,  you  best 
Of  all  diviners,  so  to  trace 
The  weather-gleams  upon  a  face; 

With  wordless,  querying  paw, 

Adventuring  the  law ! 

You  shaggy  loveliness, 

What  call  was  it? — What  dream  beyond  a  guess, 
Lured  you,  gray  ages  back, 

From  that  lone  bivouac 
Of  the  wild  pack  ? — 

Was  it  your  need,  or  ours? — The  calling  trail 
Of  faith  that  should  not  fail  ? — 

Of  hope  dim  understood? — 

That  should  follow  our  poor  humanhood, 

Only  because  you  would ! 

To  search  and  circle,  follow  and  outstrip, 

Men  and  their  fellowship; 

And  keep  your  heart  no  less, 

Your  to-and-fro  of  hope  and  wistfulness, 

Through  all  world-weathers  and  against  all  odds ! 

Can  you  forgive  us  now? — 

Your  fallen  Gods? 


SONG  OF  MYSELF 
Walt  Whitman 
From  Leaves  of  Grass 

I  think  I  could  turn  and  live  with  animals,  they  are  so  placid 
and  self-contained, 

I  stand  and  look  at  them  sometimes  an  hour  at  a  stretch. 


270  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

They  do  not  sweat  and  whine  about  their  condition, 

They  do  not  lie  awake  in  the  dark  and  weep  for  their  sins, 
They  do  not  make  me  sick  discussing  their  duty  to  God, 

No  one  is  dissatisfied — not  one  is  demented  with  the  mania  of 
owning  things, 

Not  one  kneels  to  another,  nor  to  his  kind  that  lived  thousands 
of  years  ago, 

Not  one  is  respectable  or  industrious  over  the  whole  earth. 


f.  THE  HEAVENS 


PSALM  XIX 

Joseph  Addison 

The  spacious  firmament  on  high, 

With  all  the  blue  ethereal  sky, 

And  spangled  heavens,  a  shining  frame, 
Their  great  Original  proclaim. 

The  unwearied  sun,  from  day  to  day, 
Does  his  Creator’s  power  display, 

And  publishes  to  every  land 
The  work  of  an  Almighty  hand. 

Soon  as  the  evening  shades  prevail, 

The  moon  takes  up  the  wondrous  tale, 
And  nightly  to  the  listening  earth 
Repeats  the  story  of  her  birth; 

Whilst  all  the  stars  that  round  her  burn, 
And  all  the  planets  in  their  turn, 

Confirm  the  tidings  as  they  roll. 

And  spread  the  truth  from  pole  to  pole. 

What  though  in  solemn  silence  all 
Move  round  the  dark  terrestrial  ball ; 
What  though  no  real  voice  or  sound 
Amidst  their  radiant  orbs  be  found; 


GOD  IN  NATURE 


271 


In  reason’s  ear  they  all  rejoice, 

And  utter  forth  a  glorious  voice, 
Forever  singing  as  they  shine, 

“The  hand  that  made  us  is  divine.” 


THE  HEAVENS  ABOVE  AND  THE  LAW  WITHIN 

Psalm  XIX 

From  Moulton’s  Modern  Readers’  Bible 

The  heavens  declare  the  glory  of  God; 

And  the  firmament  showeth  his  handiwork. 

Day  unto  day  uttereth  speech, 

And  night  unto  night  sheweth  knowledge. 

There  is  no  speech  nor  language; 

Their  voice  cannot  be  heard. 

Their  line  is  gone  out  through  all  the  earth, 

And  their  words  to  the  end  of  the  world. 

In  them  hath  he  set  a  tabernacle  for  the  sun, 

Which  is  as  a  bridegroom  coming  out  of  his  chamber, 

And  rejoiceth  as  a  strong  man  to  run  his  course. 

His  going  forth  is  from  the  end  of  the  heaven, 

And  his  circuit  unto  the  ends  of  it: 

And  there  is  nothing  hid  from  the  heat  thereof. 

The  law  of  the  Lord  is  perfect,  restoring  the  soul : 

The  testimony  of  the  Lord  is  sure,  making  wise  the  simple. 
The  precepts  of  the  Lord  are  right,  rejoicing  the  heart; 

The  commandment  of  the  Lord  is  pure,  enlightening  the  eyes. 
The  fear  of  the  Lord  is  clean,  enduring  for  ever : 

The  judgments  of  the  Lord  are  true,  and  righteous  altogether. 
More  to  be  desired  are  they  than  gold,  yea,  than  much  fine  gold : 
Sweeter  also  than  honey  and  the  honeycomb. 

Moreover  by  them  is  thy  servant  warned : 

In  keeping  of  them  there  is  great  reward. 

Who  can  discern  his  errors?  Clear  thou  me  from  hidden 
faults. 


272  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

Keep  back  thy  servant  also  from  presumptuous  sins;  let  them 
not  have  dominion  over  me  : 

Then  shall  I  be  perfect, 

And  I  shall  be  clear  from  the  great  transgression. 

•  •••«•••*• 
Let  the  words  of  my  mouth  and  the  meditations  of  my  heart  be 
acceptable  in  thy  sight, 

O  Lord,  my  rock  and  my  redeemer. 


THE  INVISIBLE 

Richard  Watson  Gilder 

Such  pictures  of  the  heavens  were  never  seen. 
We  stood  at  the  steep  edge  of  the  abyss 
And  looked  out  on  the  making  of  the  suns. 

The  skies  were  powdered  with  the  white  of  stars 
And  the  pale  ghosts  of  systems  yet  to  be; 

While  here  and  there  a  nebulous  spiral  told, 
Against  the  dark,  the  story  of  the  orbs — 

From  the  impalpable  condensing  slow 
Through  ages  infinite. 

Each  mighty  shape 

Seemed  as  the  shape  of  speed — a  whirling  wheel 
Stupendously  revolving, 

And  yet  no  eye  of  man  may  see  it  stir. 

(That  moveless  motion  brings  to  the  human  brain 
A  hint  of  the  large  measurements  of  time — 
Eternity  made  present.) 

f 

Such  new  sense 

Of  magnitudes  that  make  our  world  an  atom 
Might  crush  the  soul,  did  not  this  saving  thought 
Leap  to  the  mind  and  lift  it  to  clear  heights : — 

“  ’Tis  but  the  unseen  that  grows  not  old  nor  dies, 
Suffers  not  change,  nor  waning,  nor  decay. 

This  that  we  see — this  casual  glimpse  within 
The  seething  pit  of  space;  these  million  stars 


GOD  IN  NATURE 


273 


And  worlds  in  making,  these  are  naught  but  matter; 
These  are  all  but  the  dust  of  our  feet, 

And  we  who  gaze  forth  fearless  on  the  sight 
Find  not  one  equal,  facing  from  the  vast 
Our  sentient  selves.  Not  one,  sole,  lonely  star 
In  all  that  infinite  glitter  and  deep  light 
Can  make  one  conscious  movement;  all  are  slaves 
To  law  material,  immutable — 

That  Power  immense,  mysterious,  intense, 

Unseen  as  our  own  souls,  but  which  must  be 

Like  them,  the  home  of  thought,  with  will  and  might 

To  stamp  on  endless  matter  the  soul’s  will. 

Yea,  in  these  souls  of  ours  triumphant  dwells 
Some  segment  of  the  large  creative  Power — 

A  thing  beyond  the  things  of  sight  and  sense; 

A  strength  to  think,  a  force  to  conquer  force. 

One  are  we  with  the  ever-living  One.” 


THE  PATH  OF  THE  STARS 
Thomas  S.  Jones,  Jr. 

Down  through  the  spheres  there  came  the  Name  of  One 
Who  is  the  Law  of  Beauty  and  Light 
He  came,  and  as  He  came  the  waiting  Night 
Shook  with  gladness  of  a  Day  begun; 

And  as  He  came,  He  said:  “Thy  Will  be  Done 
On  Earth” ;  and  all  His  vibrant  words  were  white 
And  glistening  with  silver,  and  their  might 
Was  of  the  glory  of  a  rising  sun. 

Unto  the  Stars  sang  out  His  Living  Words 
White  and  with  silver,  and  their  rhythmic  sound 
Was  a  mighty  symphony  unfurled; 

And  back  from  out  the  Stars  like  homing  birds 
They  fell  in  love  upon  the  sleeping  ground 
And  were  forever  in  a  wakened  world. 


274  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


g.  MOUNTAINS 


HYMN  BEFORE  SUNRISE  IN  THE  VALE  OF 

CHAMOUNIX 

Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge 

Hast  thou  a  charm  to  stay  the  morning  star 
In  his  steep  course  ?  So  long  he  seems  to  pause 
On  thy  bald,  awful  head,  O  sovran  Blanc ! 

The  Arve  and  the  Arveiron  at  thy  base 
Rave  ceaselessly;  but  thou,  most  awful  Form! 

Risest  from  forth  thy  silent  sea  of  pines, 

How  silently !  Around  thee  and  above, 

Deep  is  the  air  and  dark,  substantial,  black, 

An  ebon  mass.  Methinks  thou  piercest  it, 

As  with  a  wedge !  But  when  I  look  again, 

It  is  thine  own  calm  home,  thy  crystal  shrine, 

Thy  habitation  from  eternity ! 

O  dread  and  silent  Mount !  I  gazed  upon  thee, 

Till  thou,  still  present  to  the  bodily  sense, 

Didst  vanish  from  my  thought.  Entranced  in  prayer 
I  worshipp’d  the  Invisible  alone. 

Yet,  like  some  sweet  beguiling  melody, 

So  sweet,  we  know  not  we  are  listening  to  it, 

Thou,  the  meanwhile,  wast  blending  with  my  thought, 
Yea,  with  my  life  and  life’s  own  secret  joy: 

Till  the  dilating  Soul,  enwrapt,  transfused, 

Into  the  mighty  vision  passing — there, 

As  in  her  natural  form,  swell’d  vast  to  Heaven ! 

Awake,  my  soul !  not  only  passive  praise 
Thou  owest !  not  alone  these  swelling  tears, 

Mute  thanks  and  secret  ecstasy !  awake, 

Voice  of  sweet  song!  Awake,  my  heart,  awake! 
Green  vales  and  icy  cliffs,  all  join  my  Hymn. 


GOD  IN  NATURE 


275 


Thou  first  and  chief,  sole  sovran  of  the  vale ! 

O,  struggling  with  the  darkness  all  the  night. 

And  visited  all  night  by  troops  of  stars, 

Or  when  they  climb  the  sky  or  when  they  sink : 
Companion  of  the  morning-star  at  dawn, 

Thyself  earth’s  rosy  star,  and  of  the  dawn 
Co-herald !  O  wake,  and  utter  praise ! 

Who  sank  thy  sunless  pillars  deep  in  the  Earth? 
Who  fill’d  thy  countenance  with  rosy  light? 

Who  made  thee  parent  of  perpetual  streams? 

And  you,  ye  five  wild  torrents,  fiercely  glad ! 

Who  call’d  you  forth  from  night  and  utter  death, 
From  dark  and  icy  caverns  call’d  you  forth, 

Down  those  precipitous,  black,  jagged  rocks, 

Forever  shatter’d  and  the  same  forever? 

Who  gave  you  your  invulnerable  life, 

Your  strength,  your  speed,  your  fury,  and  your  joy, 
Unceasing  thunder  and  eternal  foam? 

And  who  commanded  (and  the  silence  came), 

Here  let  the  billows  stiffen,  and  have  rest? 

Ye  ice-falls!  ye  that  from  the  mountain’s  brow 
Adown  enormous  ravines  slope  amain — 

Torrents,  methinks,  that  heard  a  mighty  voice, 

And  stopp’d  at  once  amid  their  maddest  plunge ! 
Motionless  torrents  !  silent  cataracts  ! 

Who  made  you  glorious  as  the  gates  of  Heaven 
Beneath  the  keen  full  moon  ?  Who  bade  the  sun 
Clothe  you  with  rainbows?  Who,  with  loving  flowers 
Of  loveliest  blue,  spread  garlands  at  your  feet?— 
God !  let  the  torrents,  like  a  shout  of  nations, 

Answer !  and  let  the  ice-plains  echo,  God ! 

God !  sing,  ye  meadow-streams,  with  gladsome  voice ! 
Ye  pine-groves,  with  soft  and  soul-like  sounds! 

And  they  too  have  a  voice,  yon  piles  of  snow, 

And  in  their  perilous  fall  shall  thunder,  God! 

Ye  living  flowers  that  skirt  the  eternal  frost! 

Ye  wild  goats  sporting  round  the  eagle’s  nest! 


76  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


Ye  eagles,  playmates  of  the  mountain  storm! 

Ye  lightnings,  the  dread  arrows  of  the  clouds! 

Ye  signs  and  wonders  of  the  elements ! 

Utter  forth  God,  and  fill  the  hills  with  praise! 

Thou  too,  hoar  Mount !  with  thy  sky-pointing  peaks, 
Oft  from  whose  feet  the  avalanche,  unheard, 

Shoots  downward,  glittering  through  the  pure  serene, 
Into  the  depths  of  clouds  that  veil  thy  breast — 
Thou,  too,  again,  stupendous  Mountain !  Thou 
That,  as  I  raise  my  head,  awhile  bow’d  low 
In  adoration,  upward  from  thy  base 
Slow-travelling  with  dim  eyes  suffused  with  tears, 
Solemnly  seemest,  like  a  vapory  cloud, 

To  rise  before  me — Rise,  O  ever  rise ! 

Rise,  like  a  cloud  of  incense  from  the  Earth ! 

Thou  kingly  spirit  throned  among  the  hills, 

Thou  dread  ambassador  from  earth  to  heaven, 

Great  hierarch !  tell  thou  the  silent  sky, 

And  tell  the  stars  and  tell  yon  rising  sun, 

Earth,  with  her  thousand  voices,  praises  God. 


SILENCE 

Charles  Hanson  Towne 

I  need  not  shout  my  faith.  Thrice  eloquent 
Are  quiet  trees  and  the  green  listening  sod; 
Hushed  are  the  stars,  whose  power  is  never  spent; 
The  hills  are  mute :  yet  how  they  speak  of  God ! 


GOD  IN  NATURE 


277 


0 


h.  THE  OCEAN 


TO  THE  OCEAN 
Lord  Byron 

From  Childe  Harold's  Pilgrimage 

Roll  on,  thou  deep  and  dark  blue  Ocean — roll ! 

Ten  thousand  fleets  sweep  over  thee  in  vain; 

Man  marks  the  earth  with  ruin, — his  control 
Stops  with  the  shore ;  upon  the  watery  plain 
The  wrecks  are  all  thy  deed,  nor  doth  remain 
A  shadow  of  man’s  ravage,  save  his  own, 

When  for  a  moment,  like  a  drop  of  rain, 

He  sinks  into  thy  depths  with  bubbling  groan — 
Without  a  grave,  unknelled,  uncoffined  and  unknown. 

His  steps  are  not  upon  thy  paths, — thy  fields 
Are  not  a  spoil  for  him, — thou  dost  arise 
And  shake  him  from  thee;  the  vile  strength  he  wields 
For  earth’s  destruction,  thou  dost  all  despise, 
Spurning  him  from  thy  bosom  to  the  skies, 

And  send’st  him,  shivering  in  thy  playful  spray, 

And  howling  to  his  gods,  where  haply  lies 
His  petty  hope  in  some  near  port  or  bay, 

And  dashest  him  again  to  earth;  there  let  him  lay. 

The  armaments  which  thunderstrike  the  walls 
Of  rock-built  cities,  bidding  nations  quake, 

And  monarchs  tremble  in  their  capitals, 

The  oak  leviathans,  whose  huge  ribs  make 
Their  clay  creator  the  vain  title  take 
Of  Lord  of  thee  and  Arbiter  of  War — 

These  are  thy  toys,  and,  as  the  snowy  flake, 

They  melt  into  thy  yeast  of  waves,  which  mar 
Alike  the  Armada’s  pride,  and  spoils  of  Trafalgar. 


278  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

Thy  shores  are  empires,  changed  in  all  save  thee — 
Assyria,  Greece,  Rome,  Carthage,  what  are  they? 

Thy  waters  washed  them  power  while  they  were  free, 
And  many  a  tyrant  since ;  their  shores  obey 
The  stranger,  slave,  or  savage;  their  decay 
Lias  dried  up  realms  to  deserts :  not  so  thou ; 
Unchangeable,  save  to  thy  wild  waves’  play, 

Time  writes  no  wrinkle  on  thine  azure  brow: 

Such  as  creation’s  dawn  beheld,  thou  rollest  now. 

Thou  glorious  mirror,  where  the  Almighty’s  form 
Glasses  itself  in  tempests;  in  all  time, — 

Calm  or  convulsed,  in  breeze  or  gale  or  storm, 

Icing  the  pole,  or  in  the  torrid  clime 
Dark-heaving — boundless,  endless  and  sublime, 

The  image  of  eternity,  the  throne 
Of  the  Invisible ;  even  from  out  thy  slime 
The  monsters  of  the  deep  are  made ;  each  zoae 
Obeys  thee;  thou  goest  forth,  dread,  fathomless,  alone. 

And  I  have  loved  thee,  Ocean!  and  my  joy 
Of  youthful  sports  was  on  thy  breast  to  be 
Borne,  like  thy  bubbles,  onward :  from  a  boy 
I  wantoned  with  thy  breakers;  they  to  me 
Were  a  delight;  and,  if  the  freshening  sea 
Made  them  a  terror — ’twas  a  pleasing  fear; 

For  I  was  as  it  were  a  child  of  thee 
And  trusted  to  thy  billows  far  and  near, 

And  laid  my  hand  upon  thy  mane — as  I  do  here. 


THE  OCEAN 
Psalm  CVII,  23-33 

From  Moulton’s  Modem  Readers'  Bible 

They  that  go  down  to  the  sea  in  ships, 

That  do  business  in  great  waters; 

These  see  the  works  of  the  Lord, 

And  his  wonders  in  the  deep. 


GOD  IN  NATURE 


279 


For  he  commandeth  and  raiseth  the  stormy  wind, 

Which  lifteth  up  the  waves  thereof. 

They  mount  up  to  heaven, 

They  go  down  again  to  the  depths : 

Their  soul  melteth  because  of  trouble. 

They  reel  to  and  fro, 

And  stagger  like  a  drunken  man. 

And  are  at  their  wit’s  end. 

Then  they  cry  unto  the  Lord  in  their  trouble, 

And  he  bringeth  them  out  of  their  distresses. 

He  maketh  the  storm  a  calm, 

So  that  the  waves  thereof  are  still. 

Then  they  are  glad  because  they  be  quiet; 

So  he  bringeth  them  unto  the  haven  where  they  would  be. 
Oh  that  men  would  praise  the  LORD  for  his  goodness, 

And  for  his  wonderful  works  to  the  children  of  men! 

Let  them  exalt  him  also  in  the  assembly  of  the  people, 

And  praise  him  in  the  seat  of  the  elders. 


ROCKED  IN  THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  DEEP 

Emma  Willard 

Rocked  in  the  cradle  of  the  deep 
I  lay  me  down  in  peace  to  sleep; 

Secure  I  rest  upon  the  wave, 

For  thou,  O  Lord,  hast  power  to  save. 

I  know  thou  wilt  not  slight  my  call, 

For  thou  dost  mark  the  sparrow’s  fall ; 

And  calm  and  peaceful  shall  I  sleep, 

Rocked  in  the  cradle  of  the  deep. 

When  in  the  dead  of  night  I  lie 
And  gaze  upon  the  trackless  sky, 

The  star-bespangled  heavenly  scroll, 

The  boundless  waters  as  they  roll, — 

I  feel  thy  wondrous  power  to  save 
From  perils  of  the  stormy  wave: 

Rocked  in  the  cradle  of  the  deep 
I  calmly  rest  and  soundly  sleep. 


28o  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


And  such  the  trust  that  still  were  mine, 
Though  stormy  winds  swept  o’er  the  brine. 
Or  though  the  tempest’s  fiery  breath 
Roused  me  from  sleep  to  wreck  and  death. 
In  ocean  cave  still  safe  with  Thee 
The  gem  of  immortality ! 

And  calm  and  peaceful  shall  I  sleep 
Rocked  in  the  cradle  of  the  deep. 


VI.  God  in  the  Life  of  Man 

a.  IMMANENT  IN  THE  SOUL 

b.  REVEALED  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  JESUS  CHRIST 

1.  Mediceval  and  Modern 

2.  Recent 

C.  REVEALED  IN  THE  GUIDANCE  OF  INDIVIDUAL 
LIVES 

d.  REVEALED  IN  HISTORICAL  EVENTS 

e.  REVEALED  IN  GROUPS  OR  ORGANIZATIONS  OF 

INDIVIDUALS 

1.  In  the  Family 

2.  In  the  City 

3.  In  the  Church 


. 


!  '  '•  •  ;  • 

. 

r 


. 

VI.  God  in  the  Life  of  Man 


a.  IMMANENT  IN  THE  SOUL 


REAL  PRESENCE 
Ivan  Adair 

Not  on  an  Altar  shall  mine  eyes  behold  Thee, 
Tho’  Thou  art  sacrifice,  Thou  too  art  Priest; 

Bend,  that  the  feeble  arms  of  Love  enfold  Thee, 
So  Faith  shall  bloom,  increased. 

Not  on  a  Cross,  with  passion  buds  around  Thee, 
Thorn-crowned  and  lonely,  in  Thy  suffering; 

Nay,  but  as  watching  Mary  met  and  found  Thee, 
Dawn-robed,  the  Risen  King. 

Not  in  the  past,  but  in  the  present  glorious, 

Not  in  the  future,  that  I  cannot  span. 

Living  and  breathing,  over  death  victorious, 

My  God  .  .  .  my  Brother-Man. 


IN  HIM 

James  Vila  Blake 

Though  the  bee 
Miss  the  clover 
Fly  it  by  and  know  it  not: 

Though  the  sea 
Wash  not  oar 


283 


284  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

On  the  sands  a  wounded  spot; 

Heart,  O  heart! 

Thou  wilt  part 

From  the  all-hold  on  thee,  and  lose  thy  way, 

Never,  never; 

Nor  wilt  give 

The  sweet  life  from  the  life  of  night  and  day. 
Thou  in  Him 
Liest  as  dim 

As  yellow  wings  in  golden  atmosphere, 

Or  in  the  sea  each  watery  spiritual  sphere. 


THE  DIVINE  IMAGE 
William  Blake 

To  Mercy,  Pity,  Peace,  and  Love 
All  pray  in  their  distress; 

And  to  these  virtues  of  delight 
Return  their  thankfulness. 

For  Mercy,  Pity,  Peace,  and  Love 
Is  God,  our  Father  dear, 

And  Mercy,  Pity,  Peace,  and  Love 
Is  Man,  His  child  and  care. 

For  Mercy  has  a  human  heart, 

Pity  a  human  face, 

And  Love,  the  human  form  divine, 
And  Peace,  the  human  dress. 

Then  every  man,  of  every  clime, 

That  prays  in  his  distress, 

Prays  to  the  human  form  divine, 
Love,  Mercy,  Pity,  Peace. 

And  all  must  love  the  human  form, 

In  heathen,  Turk,  or  Jew; 

Where  Mercy,  Love,  and  Pity  dwell, 
There  God  is  dwelling  too. 


GOD  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN 


HARVEST 
Eva  Gore  Booth 

Though  the  long  seasons  seem  to  separate 
Sower  and  reaper  or  deeds  dreamed  and  done, 
Yet  when  a  man  reaches  the  Ivory  Gates 
Labour  and  life  and  seed  and  corn  are  one. 

Because  thou  art  the  doer  and  the  deed, 

Because  thou  art  the  thinker  and  the  thought, 
Because  thou  art  the  helper  and  the  need, 

And  the  cold  doubt  that  brings  all  things  to  naught ; 

Therefore  in  every  gracious  form  and  shape 
The  world’s  dear  open  secret  thou  shalt  find, 
From  the  one  beauty  there  is  no  escape 
Nor  from  the  sunshine  of  the  eternal  mind. 

The  patient  laborer,  with  guesses  dim, 

Follows  this  wisdom  to  its  secret  goal. 

He  knows  all  deeds  and  dreams  exist  in  him, 
And  all  men’s  God  in  every  human  soul. 


LIFE 

Margaret  Deland 

By  one  great  heart  the  universe  is  stirred; 

By  Its  strong  pulse,  stars  climb  the  darkening  blue 
It  throbs  in  each  fresh  sunset’s  changing  hue, 

And  thrills  through  the  low  sweet  song  of  every  bird. 

By  It  the  plunging  blood  reds  all  men’s  veins; 

Joy  feels  that  heart  against  his  rapturous  own 
And  on  It,  Sorrow  breathes  her  deepest  groan; 

It  bounds  through  gladnesses  and  deepest  pains. 


286  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


Passionless  beating  through  all  Time  and  Space, 
Relentless,  calm,  majestic  in  Its  march, 

Alike,  though  Nature  shake  heaven’s  endless  arch, 

Or  man’s  heart  break,  because  of  some  dead  face ! 

’Tis  felt  in  sunshine  greening  the  soft  sod, 

In  children’s  smiling  as  in  mothers’  tears, 

And,  for  strange  comfort,  through  the  aching  years, 
Men’s  hungry  souls  have  called  that  great  Heart,  God  ! 


THE  INFORMING  SPIRIT 

Ralph  Waldo  Emerson 

There  is  no  great  and  no  small 
To  the  Soul  that  maketh  all: 

And  where  it  cometh,  all  things  are; 

And  it  cometh  everywhere. 

I  am  owner  of  the  sphere, 

Of  the  seven  stars  and  the  solar  year, 

Of  Caesar’s  hand,  and  Plato’s  brain, 

Of  Lord  Christ’s  heart,  and  Shakespeare’s  strain. 


From  VOLUNTARIES 

Ralph  Waldo  Emerson 

Stainless  soldier  on  the  walls, 
Knowing  this, — and  knows  no  more,— 
Whoever  fights,  whoever  falls, 

Justice  conquers  evermore, 

Justice  after  as  before, — 

And  he  who  battles  on  her  side, 

God,  though  he  were  ten  times  slain, 
Crowns  him  victor  glorified, 

Victor  over  death  and  pain. 


GOD  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN 

Blooms  the  laurel  which  belongs 
To  the  valiant  chief  who  fights; 

I  see  the  wreath,  I  hear  the  songs 
Lauding  the  Eternal  Rights, 

Victors  over  daily  wrongs: 

Awful  victors,  they  misguide 
Whom  they  will  destroy, 

And  their  coming  triumph  hide 
In  our  downfall,  or  our  joy: 

They  reach  no  term,  they  never  sleep, 

In  equal  strength  through  space  abide ; 

Though,  feigning  dwarfs,  they  crouch  and  creep, 
The  strong  they  slay,  the  swift  outstride : 

Fate’s  grass  grows  rank  in  valley  clods, 

And  rankly  on  the  castled  steep, — 

Speak  it  firmly,  these  are  gods, 

All  are  ghosts  beside. 


THE  HYMN  OF  THE  WORLD  WITHIN 

Psalm  CIII 

From  Moulton’s  Modern  Readers’  Bible 

Bless  the  Lord,  O  my  soul, 

And  all  that  is  within  me,  bless  his  holy  name. 
Bless  the  Lord,  O  my  soul, 

And  forget  not  all  his  benefits: 

Who  forgiveth  all  thine  iniquities ; 

Who  healeth  all  thy  diseases; 

Who  redeemeth  thy  life  from  destruction; 

Who  crowneth  thee  with  loving  kindness  and 
mercies : 

Who  satisfieth  thy  mouth  with  good  things; 

So  that  thy  youth  is  renewed  like  the  eagle. 

The  Lord  executeth  righteous  acts, 

And  judgements  for  all  that  are  oppressed. 


287 


tender 


288  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


He  made  known  his  ways  unto  Moses, 

His  doings  unto  the  children  of  Israel. 

The  Lord  is  full  of  compassion,  and  gracious, 

Slow  to  anger  and  plenteous  in  mercy. 

He  will  not  always  chide; 

Neither  will  he  keep  his  anger  forever. 

He  hath  not  dealt  with  us  after  our  sins, 

Nor  rewarded  us  after  our  iniquities. 

For  as  the  heaven  is  high  above  the  earth, 

So  great  is  his  mercy  toward  them  that  fear  him. 

As  far  as  the  east  is  from  the  west, 

So  far  hath  he  removed  our  transgressions  from  us. 

Like  as  a  father  pitieth  his  children. 

So  the  Lord  pitieth  them  that  fear  him. 

For  he  knoweth  our  frame; 

He  remembereth  that  we  are  dust. 

As  for  man,  his  days  are  as  grass; 

As  a  flower  of  the  field,  so  he  flourisheth. 

For  the  wind  passeth  over  it  and  it  is  gone : 

And  the  place  thereof  shall  know  it  no  more. 

But  the  mercy  of  the  Lord  is  from  everlasting  to  everlasting 
upon  them  that  fear  him. 

And  his  righteousness  unto  childrens’  children, 

To  such  as  keep  his  covenant, 

And  to  those  that  remember  his  precepts  to  do  them. 

The  Lord  hath  established  his  throne  in  the  heavens; 

And  his  kingdom  ruleth  over  all. 

Bless  the  Lord,  ye  angels  of  his, 

Ye  mighty  in  strength; 

That  fulfill  his  word, 

Hearkening  unto  the  voice  of  his  word. 

Bless  the  Lord,  all  ye  his  hosts; 

Ye  ministers  of  his,  that  do  his  pleasure. 

Bless  the  Lord,  all  ye  his  works, 

In  all  places  of  his  dominion. 


GOD  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN 


289 


THE  SEARCHER  OF  HEARTS  IS  THY  MAKER 

♦ 

Psalm  CXXXIX 

From  Moulton’s  Modern  Readers'  Bible 

O  Lord,  thou  hast  searched  me  and  known  me. 

Thou  knowest  my  downsitting  and  mine  uprising, 

Thou  understandest  my  thought  afar  off. 

Thou  searchest  out  my  path  and  my  lying  down, 

And  art  acquainted  with  all  my  ways. 

For  there  is  not  a  word  in  my  tongue, 

But  Lo,  O  Lord,  thou  knowest  it  altogether. 

Thou  hast  beset  me  behind  and  before, 

And  laid  thine  hand  upon  me. 

Such  knowledge  is  too  wonderful  for  me; 

It  is  high,  I  cannot  attain  unto  it. 

Whither  shall  I  go  from  thy  spirit? 

Or  whither  shall  I  flee  from  thy  presence? 

If  I  ascend  up  into  heaven,  thou  art  there: 

If  I  make  my  bed  in  Sheol,  behold  thou  art  there. 

If  I  take  the  wings  of  the  morning, 

And  dwell  in  the  uttermost  parts  of  the  sea; 

Even  there  shall  thy  hand  lead  me, 

And  thy  right  hand  shall  hold  me. 

If  I  say,  Surely  the  darkness  shall  overwhelm  me, 

And  the  light  about  me  shall  be  night; 

Even  the  darkness  hideth  not  from  thee, 

But  the  night  shineth  as  the  day : 

The  darkness  and  the  light  are  both  alike  to  thee. 

For  thou  hast  possessed  my  reins : 

Thou  hast  covered  me  in  my  mother’s  womb. 

I  will  give  thanks  unto  thee ;  for  I  am  fearfully  and  wonderfully 
made : 

Wonderful  are  thy  works; 

And  that  my  soul  knoweth  right  well. 

My  frame  was  not  hidden  from  thee, 

When  I  was  made  in  secret, 

And  curiously  wrought  in  the  lowest  parts  of  the  earth. 


290  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


Thine  eyes  did  see  my  unperfect  substance, 

And  in  thy  book  were  all  my  members  written, 

Which  day  by  day  were  fashioned, 

When  as  yet  there  was  none  of  them. 

How  precious  also  are  thy  thoughts  unto  me,  O  God ! 

How  great  is  the  sum  of  them ! 

If  I  should  count  them,  they  are  more  in  number  than  the  sand 
When  I  awake,  I  am  still  with  thee. 

Surely  thou  wilt  slay  the  wicked,  O  God : 

Depart  from  me,  therefore,  ye  bloodthirsty  men. 

For  they  speak  against  thee  wickedly, 

And  thine  enemies  take  thy  name  in  vain. 

Do  I  not  hate  them,  O  Lord,  that  hate  thee  ? 

And  am  I  not  grieved  with  those  that  rise  up  against  thee 
I  hate  them  with  perfect  hatred : 

I  count  them  mine  enemies, 

Search  me,  O  God,  and  know  my  heart : 

Try  me  and  know  my  thoughts; 

And  see  if  there  be  any  way  of  wickedness  in  me, 

And  lead  me  in  the  way  everlasting. 


NODES 

Alice  Corbin  Henderson 

The  endless,  foolish  merriment  of  stars 
Beside  the  pale  cold  sorrow  of  the  moon, 

Is  like  the  wayward  noises  of  the  world 
Beside  my  heart’s  uplifted  silent  tune. 

The  little  broken  glitter  of  the  waves 
Beside  the  golden  sun’s  intense  white  blaze, 

Is  like  the  idle  chatter  of  the  crowd 
Beside  my  heart’s  unwearied  song  of  praise. 

The  sun  and  all  the  planets  in  the  sky 
Beside  the  sacred  wonder  of  dim  space, 

Are  notes  upon  a  broken  tarnished  lute 
That  God  will  some  day  mend  and  put  in  place. 


GOD  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN 


291 


And  space,  beside  the  little  secret  joy 
Of  God  that  sings  forever  in  the  clay, 

Is  smaller  than  the  dust  we  cannot  see, 
That  yet  dies  not,  till  time  and  space  decay. 

And  as  the  foolish  merriment  of  stars 
Beside  the  cold  pale  sorrow  of  the  moon, 
My  little  song,  my  little  joy,  my  praise, 
Beside  God’s  ancient  everlasting  rune. 

From  TFIE  CHERUBIM 
Thomas  Heywood 

I  have  wandered  like  a  sheep  that’s  lost, 
To  find  Thee  out  in  every  coast. 

Without  I  have  long  seeking  been, 

Whilst  Thou  the  while  abidst  within. 
Through  every  broad  street  and  strait  lane 
Of  this  world’s  city,  but  in  vain, 

I  have  inquired.  The  reason  Why? 

I  sought  Thee  ill;  for  how  could  I 
Find  Thee  abroad,  when  Thou,  mean  space, 
Hadst  made  within  thy  dwelling-place  ? 

I  sent  my  messengers  about 
To  try  if  they  could  find  Thee  out. 

But  all  was  to  no  purpose  still, 

Because,  indeed,  they  sought  Thee  ill; 

For  how  could  they  discover  Thee 
That  saw  not  when  thou  enteredst  me? 

Mine  eyes  could  tell  me  ?  If  He  were 
Not  coloured,  sure  He  came  not  there. 

If  not  by  sound,  my  ears  could  say 
He  doubtless  did  not  pass  my  way. 

My  nose  could  nothing  of  Him  tell, 
Because  my  God  He  did  not  smell. 

None  such  I  relished,  said  my  taste, 


THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


And  therefore  me  He  never  passed. 

My  feeling  told  me  that  none  such 
There  entered  for  He  did  none  touch. 
Resolved  by  them  how  should  I  be, 

Since  none  of  all  these  are  in  Thee? 

In  Thee !  My  God,  Thou  hast  no  hue 
That  man’s  frail  optic  sense  can  view; 

No  sound  the  ear  hears;  odour  none 
The  smell  attracts;  all  taste  is  gone 
At  Thy  appearance;  where  doth  fail 
A  body,  how  can  touch  prevail? 

Yet  when  I  seek  my  God,  I  enquire 
For  Light,  the  sun  and  moon  much  higher, 
More  clear  and  splendrous,  ’bove  all  light, 
Which  eye  receives  not,  ’Tis  so  bright. 

I  seek  a  voice  beyond  degree 
Of  all  melodious  harmony; 


So  far  this  Light  the  rays  extends 
As  that  no  place  it  comprehends. 


This  light,  this  sound,  this  savoring  grace, 
This  tasteful  sweet,  this  strict  embrace, 

No  place  contains,  no  eye  can  see, 

My  God  is,  and  there’s  none  but  HE. 


THE  LIVING  TEMPLE 

Oliver  Wendell  Holmes 

Not  in  the  world  of  light  alone, 

Where  God  has  built  his  blazing  throne. 
Nor  yet  alone  in  earth  below, 

With  belted  seas  that  come  and  go, 

And  endless  isles  of  sunlit  green, 

Is  all  thy  Maker’s  glory  seen : 

Look  in  upon  thy  wondrous  frame, — 
Eternal  wisdom  still  the  same ! 


GOD  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN 


293 


The  smooth,  soft  air  with  pulse-like  waves 
Flows  murmuring  through  its  hidden  caves, 
Whose  streams  of  brightening  purple  rush, 
Fired  with  a  new  and  livelier  blush, 

While  all  their  burden  of  decay 
The  ebbing  current  steals  away, 

And  red  with  Nature’s  flame  they  start 
From  the  warm  fountains  of  the  heart. 

No  rest  that  throbbing  slave  may  ask, 
Forever  quivering  o’er  his  task, 

While  far  and  wide  a  crimson  jet 
Leaps  forth  to  fill  the  woven  net 
Which  in  unnumbered  crossing  tides 
The  flood  of  burning  life  divides, 

Then,  kindling  each  decaying  part, 

Creeps  back  to  find  the  throbbing  heart. 

But  warmed  with  that  unchanging  flame 
Behold  the  outward  moving  frame, 

Its  living  marbles  jointed  strong 
With  glistening  band  and  silvery  thong, 
And  linked  to  reason’s  guiding  reins 
By  myriad  rings  in  trembling  chains, 

Each  graven  with  the  threaded  zone 
Which  claims  it  as  the  master’s  own. 

See  how  yon  beam  of  seeming  white 
Is  braided  out  of  seven-hued  light, 

Yet  in  those  lucid  globes  no  ray 
By  any  chance  shall  break  astray. 

Hark  how  the  rolling  surge  of  sound, 

Arches  and  spirals  circling  round, 

Wakes  the  hushed  spirit  through  thine  ear 
With  music  it  is  heaven  to  hear. 

Then  mark  the  cloven  sphere  that  holds 
All  thought  in  its  mysterious  folds; 

That  feels  sensation’s  faintest  thrill, 

And  flashes  forth  the  sovereign  will ; 


294  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

Think  on  the  stormy  world  that  dwells 
Locked  in  its  dim  and  clustering  cells ! 

The  lightning  gleams  of  power  it  sheds 
Along  its  hollow  glassy  threads ! 

O  Father!  grant  thy  love  divine 
To  make  these  mystic  temples  thine ! 

When  wasting  age  and  wearying  strife 
Have  sapped  the  leaning  walls  of  life, 

When  darkness  gathers  over  all, 

And  the  last  tottering  pillars  fall, 

Take  the  poor  dust  thy  mercy  warms, 

And  mould  it  into  heavenly  forms ! 


THE  INDWELLING  GOD 
Frederick  Lucian  Hosmer 

Go  not,  my  soul,  in  search  of  Him; 
Thou  wilt  not  find  Him  there — 

Or  in  the  depths  of  shadow  dim. 

Or  heights  of  upper  air. 

For  not  in  far-off  realms  of  space 
The  Spirit  hath  its  throne ; 

In  every  heart  it  findeth  place 
And  waiteth  to  be  known. 

Thought  answereth  alone  to  thought 
And  Soul  with  soul  hath  kin; 

The  outward  God  he  findeth  not, 
Who  finds  not  God  within. 

And  if  the  vision  come  to  thee 
Revealed  by  inward  sign, 

Earth  will  be  full  of  Deity 
And  with  his  glory  shine  ! 


GOD  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN 


295 


Thou  shalt  not  want  for  company, 

Nor  pitch  thy  tent  alone; 

The  Indwelling  God  will  go  with  thee, 
And  show  thee  of  his  own. 

O  gift  of  gifts,  O  grace  of  grace, 

That  God  should  condescend 

To  make  thy  heart  His  dwelling-place — 
And  be  thy  daily  Friend! 

Then  go  not  thou  in  search  of  Him 
But  to  thyself  repair; 

Wait  thou  within  the  silence  dim 
And  thou  shalt  find  Him  there. 


SONGS  OF  KABIR 
Kabir 

Translated  by  Rabindranath  Tagore 

I.  83 

The  moon  shines  in  my  body,  but  my  blind  eyes  cannot  see  it: 

The  moon  is  within  me,  and  so  is  the  sun. 

The  unstruck  drum  of  Eternity  is  sounded  within  me;  but  my 
deaf  ears  cannot  hear  it. 

So  long  as  man  clamours  for  the  I  and  the  Mine ,  his  works 
are  as  naught : 

When  all  love  of  the  I  and  the  Mine  is  dead,  then  the  work 
of  the  Lord  is  done. 

For  work  has  no  other  aim  than  the  getting  of  knowledge: 

When  that  comes,  then  work  is  put  away. 

The  flower  blooms  for  the  fruit :  when  the  fruit  comes,  the 
flower  withers. 

The  musk  is  in  the  deer,  but  it  seeks  it  not  within  itself :  it 
wanders  in  quest  of  grass. 


296  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

I.  85 

When  He  Himself  reveals  Himself,  Brahma  brings  into  mani¬ 
festation  That  which  can  never  be  seen. 

As  the  seed  is  in  the  plant,  as  the  shade  is  in  the  tree,  as  the 
void  is  in  the  sky,  as  infinite  forms  are  in  the  void — 

So  from  beyond  the  Infinite,  the  Infinite  comes;  and  from  the 
Infinite  the  finite  extends. 

The  creature  is  in  Brahma,  and  Brahma  is  in  the  creature :  they 
are  ever  distinct,  yet  ever  united. 

He  Himself  is  the  tree,  the  seed,  and  the  germ. 

He  Himself  is  the  flower,  the  fruit,  and  the  shade. 

He  Himself  is  the  sun,  the  light,  and  the  lighted. 

He  Himself  is  Brahma,  creature,  and  Maya. 

He  Himself  is  the  manifold  form,  the  infinite  space ; 

He  is  the  breath,  the  word,  and  the  meaning. 

He  Himself  is  the  limit  and  the  limitless :  and  beyond  both  the 
limited  and  the  limitless  is  He,  the  Pure  Being. 

He  is  the  Immanent  Mind  in  Brahma  and  in  the  creature. 

The  Supreme  Soul  is  seen  within  the  soul, 

The  Point  is  seen  within  the  Supreme  Soul, 

And  within  the  Point,  the  reflection  is  seen  again. 

Kabir  is  blest  because  he  has  this  supreme  vision ! 

I.  101 

Within  the  earthen  vessel  are  bowers  and  groves,  and  within 
it  is  the  Creator : 

Within  this  vessel  are  the  seven  oceans  and  the  unnumbered 
stars. 

The  touchstone  and  the  jewel-appraiser  are  within; 

And  within  this  vessel  the  Eternal  soundeth,  and  the  spring 
wells  up. 

Kabir  says:  “Listen  to  me,  my  Friend!  My  beloved  Lord  is 
within.” 

I.  104 

O  how  may  I  ever  express  that  secret  word? 

O  how  can  I  say  Lie  is  not  like  this,  and  He  is  like  that? 

If  I  say  that  He  is  within  me,  the  universe  is  ashamed: 


GOD  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN 


297 


If  I  say  that  He  is  without  me,  it  is  falsehood. 

He  makes  the  inner  and  the  outer  worlds  to  be  indivisibly 
one ; 

The  conscious  and  the  unconscious,  both  are  His  footstools. 

He  is  neither  manifest  nor  hidden,  He  is  neither  revealed  nor 
unrevealed : 

There  are  no  words  to  tell  that  which  He  is. 

I.  121 

To  Thee  Thou  hast  drawn  my  love,  O  Fakir! 

I  was  sleeping  in  my  own  chamber,  and  Thou  didst  awaken 
me;  striking  me  with  Thy  voice,  O  Fakir! 

I  was  drowning  in  the  deeps  of  the  ocean  of  this  world,  and 
Thou  didst  save  me :  upholding  me  with  Thine  arm,  O 
Fakir ! 

Only  one  word  and  no  second — and  Thou  hast  made  me  tear 
off  all  my  bonds,  O  Fakir ! 

Kabir  says,  “Thou  hast  united  Thy  heart  to  my  heart,  O  Fakir !” 

I.  131 

I  played  day  and  night  with  my  comrades,  and  now  I  am 
greatly  afraid. 

So  high  is  my  Lord’s  palace,  my  heart  trembles  to  mount  its 
stairs;  yet  I  must  not  be  shy,  if  I  would  enjoy.  His  love. 

My  heart  must  cleave  to  my  Lover;  I  must  withdraw  my  veil, 
and  meet  Him  with  all  my  body : 

Mine  eyes  must  perform  the  ceremony  of  the  lamps  of  love. 

Kabir  says:  “Listen  to  me,  friend:  he  understands  who  loves. 
If  you  feel  not  love’s  longing  for  your  Beloved  One,  it 
is  vain  to  adorn  your  body,  vain  to  put  unguent  on  your 
eyelids.” 


From  WITHIN  AND  WITHOUT 
George  Macdonald 

My  soul  leans  toward  Him;  stretches  out  its  arms, 
And  waits  expectant.  Speak  to  me,  my  God : 


298  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

And  let  me  know  the  living  Father  cares 
For  me,  even  me;  for  this  one  of  His  children. 
Hast  Thou  no  word  for  me  ?  I  am  Thy  thought. 
GOD,  let  Thy  mighty  heart  beat  into  mine, 

And  let  mine  answer  as  a  pulse  of  Thine. 

•  ••••♦•••ft 

I  am  an  emptiness  for  Thee  to  fill; 

My  soul  a  cavern  for  Thy  sea.  I  lie 
Diffus’d,  abandoning  myself  to  Thee.  .  .  . 

I  will  look  up,  if  life  should  fail  in  looking! 

Ah,  me!  A  stream  cut  from  my  parent  spring! 
Ah,  me!  A  life  lost  from  its  father  life! 


Lord  of  Thyself  and  me,  through  the  sore  grief 
Which  thou  didst  bear  to  bring  us  back  to  God, 
Or,  rather,  bear  in  being  unto  us 
Thy  own  pure  shining  self  of  love  and  truth ! 
When  I  have  learnt  to  think  Thy  radiant  thoughts, 
To  live  the  truth  beyond  the  power  to  know  it, 

To  bear  my  light  as  Thou  Thy  heavy  cross, 

Nor  ever  feel  a  martyr  for  Thy  sake, 

But  an  unprofitable  servant  still — 

My  highest  sacrifice  my  simplest  duty 
Imperative  and  unavoidable, 

Less  than  which  all  were  nothingness  and  waste; 
When  I  have  lost  myself  in  other  men, 

And  found  myself  in  Thee — the  Father  then 
Will  come  with  Thee,  and  will  abide  with  me. 

HAIL  MAN! 

Angela  Morgan 

This  flesh  is  but  the  symbol  and  the  shrine 
Of  an  immense  and  unimagined  beauty, 

Not  mortal,  but  divine; 

Structure  behind  our  structure, 

Lightning  within  the  brain, 


GOD  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN 


299 


Soul  of  singing  nerve  and  throbbing  vein, 

A  giant  blaze  that  scorches  through  our  dust, 
Fanning  our  futile  “might  be”  with  its  “must”; 
Bearing  upon  its  breast  our  eager  span — 
Beyond,  above  and  yet  the  self  of  man ! 

Look  how  the  glow-worm  with  its  feeble  might 
Signals  the  presence  of  celestial  fire : 

How  phosphorus  upon  the  sea  at  night, 

And  the  swift  message  o’er  the  radiant  wire, 
Proclaim  the  awesome  thing  existence  covers; 
Eternity  emerging  through  our  husk, 

Sky  through  our  vapor, 

Glory  through  our  dusk. 

Behold  the  slender  scarlet  line  that  hovers 
Between  close  fingers  held  against  the  sun, 
Each  life  a  swift  and  beaming  taper 
Afire  from  one. 

And  how  each  seems  the  token 
Of  a  great  mystery  no  man  has  spoken, 
Wherein  we  walk  and  work  and  do  our  tasks, 
Nor  dream  within  what  light  the  spirit  basks. 

This  creaking  tent  we  call  the  universe, 

One  motion  in  a  mighty  caravan 
Whose  million  million  orbits  but  rehearse 
The  miracle  that  swings  the  heart  of  man 
Is  but  the  outward  breathing,  of  that  Source — 
Call  it  by  whatever  sounding  name — 

God  or  Jehovah,  Life  or  Primal  Force — 

While  like  a  vast  impalpable  pure  flame, 

Bears  up  the  visible  as  ’twere,  a  toy; 

Props  with  its  permanence  our  mortal  screen; 
Hotter  than  hissing  fire,  than  light  more  keen; 
Solid  as  stone,  simple  and  clean  as  glass; 

Fluid  as  flashing  waves  that  leap  and  pass  .  .  . 

Yet  doth  obscuring  flesh 
Infinity  enmesh, 


300  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

While  soul  within  its  prison  speaks  to  soul, 

Hailing  the  habitation  as  the  whole ! 

This  flesh  is  but  the  visible  out-pouring 
Of  a  portentous  and  mighty  thing, 

Whereof  each  mortal  knowing, 

Becomes  a  king. 

PROVIDENCE 
Cale  Young  Rice 

When  I  was  far  from  the  sea’s  voice  and  vastness 
I  looked  for  God  in  the  days  and  hours  and  seasons. 

But  now,  by  its  large  and  eternal  tides  surrounded 
I  know  I  shall  only  find  Him  in  the  greater  swing  of  the  years. 

For  all  the  seas  are  His  mysteries,  not  to  be  learned  from  a 
single  surf-beat, 

No  wave  suffices  Him  for  a  revelation. 

How  like  the  seas  that  dower  all  lands  with  green  and  the 
breath  of  blossoms, 

With  dews  that  never  have  heard  its  deathless  surges. 

Let  me  be  patient,  then,  sure  that  stars  are  not  jetsam  tossing, 
Or  meaningless  waste  waters  of  omnipotence. 

Let  me  be  patient  even  when  man  is  sunk  in  the  storm  of  His 
purpose 

And  swirled,  a  strangled  corpse,  under  His  Ages. 

From  THE  HYMN  OF  MAN 

Algernon  Charles  Swinburne 

Thou  and  I  and  he  are  not  gods  made  men  for  a  span, 

For  God,  if  a  God  there  be,  is  the  substance  of  men  which  is 
man. 

Our  lives  are  as  pulses  or  pores  of  his  manifold  body  and 
breath ; 


GOD  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN  301 

As  waves  of  his  sea  on  the  shores  where  birth  is  the  beacon 
of  death. 

We  men,  the  multiform  features  of  man,  whatsoever  we  be, 

Recreate  him  of  whom  we  are  creatures,  and  all  we  only  are  he. 

Not  each  man  of  all  men  is  God,  but  God  is  the  fruit  of  the 
whole ; 

Indivisible  spirit  and  blood,  indiscernible  body  from  soul. 

Not  men’s  but  man’s  is  the  glory  of  godhead,  the  kingdom  of 
time, 

The  mountainous  ages  made  hoary  with  snows  for  the  spirit  to 
climb. 

A  God  with  the  world  inwound  whose  clay  to  his  foot  sole 
clings ; 

A  manifold  God  fast-bound  as  with  the  iron  of  adverse  things. 

A  soul  that  labors  and  lives,  an  emotion,  a  strenuous  breath, 

From  the  flame  that  its  own  mouth  gives  reillumed,  and 
refreshed  with  death. 

In  the  sea  whereof  centuries  are  waves  the  live  God  plunges 
and  swims; 

His  bed  is  in  all  men’s  graves,  but  the  worm  hath  not  hold  on 
his  limbs. 

Night  puts  not  out  his  eyes,  nor  time  sheds  change  on  his  head; 

With  such  fire  as  the  stars  of  the  skies  are  the  roots  of  his 
heart  fed. 

Men  are  the  thoughts  passing  through  it,  the  veins  that  fulfil 
it  with  blood, 

With  spirit  of  sense  to  renew  it  as  springs  fulfilling  a  flood. 

Men  are  the  heartbeats  of  man,  the  plumes  that  feather  his 
wings, 

Storm-worn,  since  being  began,  with  the  wind  and  thunder  of 
things. 

Things  are  cruel  and  blind;  their  strength  detains  and  deforms: 

And  the  wearying  wings  of  the  mind  still  beat  up  the  stream 
of  their  storms. 

Still,  as  swimming  up  stream,  they  strike  out  blind  in  the 
blast, 

In  thunders  of  vision  and  dream,  and  lightnings  of  future  and 
past. 

We  are  baffled  and  caught  in  the  current  and  bruised  upon 
edges  of  shoals; 


302  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


As  weeds  or  as  reeds  in  the  torrent  of  things  are  the  wind- 
shaken  souls. 

Spirit  by  spirit  goes  under,  a  foam-bell’s  bubble  of  breath, 

That  blows  and  opens  in  sunder  and  blurs  not  the  mirror  of 
death. 

For  a  worm  or  a  thorn  in  his  path  is  a  man’s  soul  quenched  as 
a  flame ; 

For  his  lust  of  an  hour  or  his  wrath  shall  the  worm  and 
the  man  be  the  same. 

•  ••••••••••• 

By  the  spirit  are  things  overcome ;  they  are  stark,  and  the  spirit 
hath  breath : 

It  hath  speech,  and  their  forces  are  dumb;  it  is  living,  and 
things  are  of  death. 

•  #••••••»••• 

Space  is  the  soul’s  to  inherit;  the  night  is  hers  as  the  day; 

Lo,  saith  man,  this  is  my  spirit;  how  shall  not  the  worlds  make 
way  ? 

Space  is  thought,  and  the  wonders  thereof,  and  the  spectre  of 
space ; 

Is  thought  not  more  than  the  thunders  and  lightnings?  Shall 
thought  give  place? 

Is  the  body  not  more  than  the  vesture?  The  life  not  more  than 
the  meat? 

The  will  than  the  word  or  the  gesture,  the  heart  than  the  hands 
or  the  feet? 

Is  the  tongue  not  more  than  the  speech  is?  the  head  not  more 
than  the  crown? 

And  if  higher  than  is  heaven  be  the  reach  of  the  soul,  shall 
not  heaven  bow  down? 

Time,  father  of  life,  and  more  great  than  the  life  it  begat  and 
began, 

Earth’s  keeper  and  heaven’s  and  their  fate,  lives,  thinks,  and 
hath  substance  in  man. 

a  a  •  •  •  •  • 

The  seal  of.  his  knowledge  is  sure,  the  truth  and  his  spirit  are 
wed ; 

Men  perish,  but  man  shall  endure;  lives  die,  but  the  life  is  not 
dead. 


GOD  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN 


303 

Thou  art  smitten,  thou  God,  thou  art  smitten;  thy  death  is  upon 
Thee,  O  Lord. 

And  the  love-song  of  earth  as  thou  diest  resounds  through  the 
wind  of  her  wings — 

Glory  to  Man  in  the  highest !  for  Man  is  the  master  of  things. 


From  GITANJALI 
Rabindranath  Tagore 

10 

Here  is  thy  footstool  and  there  rest  thy  feet  where  live  the 
poorest,  and  lowliest,  and  best. 

When  I  try  to  bow  to  thee,  my  obeisance  cannot  reach  down 
to  the  depth  where  thy  feet  rest  among  the  poorest, 
and  lowliest,  and  lost. 

Pride  can  never  approach  to  where  thou  walkest  in  the 
clothes  of  the  humble  among  the  poorest,  and  lowliest, 
and  lost. 

My  heart  can  never  find  its  way  to  where  thou  keepest 
company  with  the  companionless  among  the  poorest, 
the  lowliest,  and  the  lost. 

11 

Leave  this  chanting  and  singing  and  telling  of  beads ! 

Whom  dost  thou  worship  in  this  dark  corner  of  a  temple  with 
doors  all  shut? 

Open  thine  eyes  and  see  thy  God  is  not  before  thee ! 

He  is  there  where  the  tiller  is  tilling  the  hard  ground  and 
where  the  path-maker  is  breaking  stones.  He  is  with 
them  in  sun  and  in  shower,  and  his  garment  is  covered 
with  dust.  Put  off  thy  holy  mantle  even  like  him  and 
come  down  on  the  dusty  soil ! 

Deliverance?  Where  is  this  deliverance  to  be  found?  Our 
master  himself  has  joyfully  taken  upon  him  the  bonds 
of  creation;  he  is  bound  with  us  all  forever. 


304  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

Come  out  of  thy  meditations  and  leave  aside  thy  flowers 
and  incense;  What  harm  is  there  if  thy  clothes  become 
tattered  and  stained?  Meet  him  and  stand  by  him  in 
toil  and  in  the  sweat  of  thy  brow. 


From  IN  MEMORIAM 
Alfred  Tennyson 
CXXIV 

That  which  we  dare  invoke  to  bless; 

Our  dearest  faith;  our  ghastliest  doubt; 
He,  They,  One,  All ;  within,  without ; 

The  Power  in  darkness  Whom  we  guess. 

I  found  Him  not  in  world  or  sun, 

Or  eagle’s  wings,  or  insect’s  eye ; 

Nor  through  the  questions  men  may  try, 
The  petty  cobwebs  we  have  spun. 

If  e’er  when  faith  had  fallen  asleep, 

I  heard  a  voice  ‘Believe  no  more’ 

And  heard  an  ever-breaking  shore 
That  tumbled  in  the  godless  deep ; 

A  warmth  within  the  breast  would  melt 
And  freezing  reason’s  colder  part, 

And  like  a  man  in  wrath  the  heart 
Stood  up  and  answered  T  have  felt.’ 


I  SEEK  THEE  IN  THE  HEART  ALONE 
Herbert  Trench 

Fountain  of  Fire  whom  all  divide 
We  haste  asunder  like  the  spray, 

But  waneless  doth  thy  flame  abide 
Whom  every  torch  can  take  away ! 


GOD  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN 


305 


I  seek  Thee  in  the  heart  alone, 

I  shall  not  find  in  hill  or  plain; 

Our  rushing  star  must  keep  its  moan, 

Our  nightly  soul  its  homeward  pain. 

Song  beyond  thought,  Light  beyond  power, 
Even  the  consumings  of  this  breast 
Advance  the  clearness  of  that  hour 
When  all  shall  poise,  and  be  at  rest. 

It  cracks  at  last — the  glowing  sheath 
The  illusion — Personality — 

Absorbed  and  interwoven  with  death 
The  myriads  are  dissolved  in  Thee. 


INTROVERSION 

Evelyn  Underhill  (Mrs.  Stuart  Moore) 

What  do  you  seek  within,  O  soul,  my  brother? 

What  do  you  seek  within? 

I  seek  a  life  that  shall  never  die, 

Some  haven  to  win 
From  mortality. 

What  do  you  find  within,  O  soul,  my  brother? 

What  do  you  find  within? 

I  find  great  quiet  where  no  noises  come. 

Without,  the  world’s  din; 

Silence  in  my  home. 

Whom  do  you  find  within,  O  soul,  my  brother  ? 

Whom  do  you  find  within? 

I  find  a  friend  that  in  secret  came : 

His  scarred  hands  within 
He  shields  a  faint  flame. 

What  would  you  do  within,  O  soul,  my  brother? 
What  would  you  do  within? 


306  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

Bar  door  and  window  that  none  may  see: 

That  alone  we  may  be 
(Alone!  face  to  face, 

In  that  flame-lit  place!) 

When  first  we  begin 
To  speak  one  with  another. 


SUPERSENSUAL 

0 

Evelyn  Underhill 

When  first  the  busy,  clumsy  tongue  is  stilled, 
Save  that  some  childish,  stammering  words  of  love 
The  coming  birth  of  man’s  true  language  prove : 
When,  one  and  all, 

The  wistful,  seeking  senses  are  fulfilled 
With  strange,  austere  delight: 

When  eye  and  ear 

Are  inward  turned  to  meet  the  flooding  light, 

The  cadence  of  thy  coming  quick  to  hear: 

When  on  thy  mystic  flight, 

Thou  Swift  yet  Changeless,  herald  breezes  bring 

To  scent  the  heart’s  swept  cell 

With  incense  from  the  thurible  of  spring, 

The  fragrance  which  the  lily  seeks  in  vain: 

When  touch  no  more  may  tell 
The  verities  of  contact  unexpressed, 

And,  deeply  pressed, 

To  that  surrender  which  is  holiest  pain, 

We  taste  thy  very  rest — 

Ah,  then  we  find 

Folded  about  by  kindly-nurturing  night, 

Instinct  with  silence  sweetly  musical, 

The  rapt  communion  of  the  mind  with  Mind. 

Then  may  the  senses  fall 
Vanquished  indeed,  nor  dread 
That  this  their  dear  defeat  be  counted  sin : 

For  every  door  of  flesh  shall  lift  its  head, 
Because  the  King  of  Life  is  entered  in. 


GOD  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN 


307 


THEOPHANY 
Evelyn  Underhill 

Deep  cradled  in  the  fringed  mow  to  lie 
And  feel  the  rhythmic  flux  of  life  sweep  by, 
This  is  to  know  the  easy  heaven  that  waits 
Before  our  timidly-embattled  gates: 

To  show  the  exultant  leap  and  thrust  of  things 
Outward  toward  perfection,  in  the  heart 
Of  every  bud  to  see  the  folded  wings, 

Discern  the  patient  whole  in  every  part. 


THE  DWELLING  PLACE 

Henry  Vaughan 

What  happy  secret  fountain. 

Fair  shade  or  mountain, 

Whose  undiscovered  virgin  glory 
Boasts  it  this  day,  though  not  in  story, 
Was  then  thy  dwelling?  did  some  cloud 
Fix’d  to  a  tent,  descend  and  shroud 
My  distrest  Lord?  or  did  a  star, 

Beckoned  by  thee,  though  high  and  far, 

In  sparkling  smiles  haste  gladly  down 
To  lodge  light  and  increase  her  own? 

My  dear,  dear  God !  I  do  not  know 
What  lodged  thee  then,  nor  where,  nor  how; 
But  I  am  sure  thou  now  dost  come 
Oft  to  a  narrow,  homely  room, 

Where  thou  too  hast  but  the  least  part, 

My  God,  I  mean  my  sinful  heart. 


308  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


HEALTH  OF  BODY  DEPENDENT  ON  SOUL 

Jones  Very 

Not  from  the  earth,  or  skies, 

Or  seasons  as  they  roll, 

Come  health  and  vigor  to  the  frame, 

But  from  the  living  soul. 

Is  this  alive  to  God, 

And  not  the  slave  to  sin? 

Then  will  the  body,  too,  receive 
Health  from  the  soul  within. 

But  if  disease  has  touched 
The  spirit’s  inmost  part, 

In  vain  we  seek  from  outward  things 
To  heal  the  deadly  smart. 

The  mind,  the  heart  unchanged, 

Which  clouded  e’en  our  home, 

Will  make  the  outward  world  the  same. 
Where’er  our  feet  may  roam. 

The  fairest  scenes  on  earth, 

The  mildest,  purest  sky, 

Will  bring  no  vigor  to  the  step. 

No  lustre  to  the  eye. 

For  He  who  formed  our  frame 
Made  man  a  perfect  whole, 

And  made  the  body’s  health  depend 
Upon  the  living  soul. 


KS 


GOD  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN 


309 


THE  LIGHT  FROM  WITHIN 
Jones  Very 

I  saw  on  earth  another  light 
Than  that  which  lit  my  eye 

Come  forth  as  from  my  soul  within, 

And  from  a  higher  sky. 

Its  beams  shone  still  unclouded  on, 

When  in  the  farthest  west 

The  sun  I  once  had  known  had  sunk 
Forever  to  his  rest. 

And  on  I  walked,  though  dark  the  night, 
Nor  rose  his  orb  by  dc,y; 

As  one  who  by  a  surer  guide 
Was  pointed  out  the  way. 

’Twas  brighter  far  than  noonday’s  beam; 
It  shone  from  God  within, 

And  lit,  as  by  a  lamp  from  heaven, 

The  world’s  track  of  sin. 


SONG  OF  MYSELF 
Walt  Whitman 
From  Leaves  of  Grass 

I  hear  and  behold  God  in  every  object,  yet  understand  God 
not  in  the  least, 

Nor  do  I  understand  who  there  can  be  more  wonderful  than 
myself. 

Why  should  I  wish  to  see  God  better  than  this  day? 

see  something  of  God  each  hour  of  the  twenty-four,  and 
each  moment  then, 


3io  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


In  the  faces  of  men  and  women  I  see  God,  and  in  my  own 
face  in  the  glass, 

I  find  letters  from  God  dropped  in  the  street — and  every  one  is 
signed  by  God’s  name, 

And  I  leave  them  where  they  are,  for  I  know  that  others  will 
punctually  come  forever  and  ever. 


b.  REVEALED  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  JESUS  CHRIST 


I.  Mediaeval  and  Modern 

KARSHISH,  THE  ARAB  PHYSICIAN 
Being  an  Epistle 

Containing  His  Strange  Medical  Experience 
Robert  Browning 

Karshish,  the  picker-up  of  learning’s  crumbs, 

The  not-incurious  in  God’s  handiwork 
(This  man’s-flesh  He  hath  admirably  made, 

Blown  like  a  bubble,  kneaded  like  a  paste, 

To  coop  up  and  keep  down  on  earth  a  space 
That  puff  of  vapor  from  His  mouth,  man’s  soul) 

— To  Abib,  all-sagacious  in  our  art, 

Breeder  in  me  of  what  poor  skill  I  boast, 

Like  me  inquisitive  how  pricks  and  cracks 
Befall  the  flesh  through  too  much  stress  and  strain, 
Whereby  the  wily  vapor  fain  would  slip 
Back  and  rejoin  its  source  before  the  term, — 

And  aptest  in  contrivance,  under  God, 

To  baffle  it  by  deftly  stopping  such: — 

The  vagrant  Scholar  to  his  Sage  at  home 

Sends  greeting  (health  and  knowledge,  fame  with  peace) 

Three  samples  of  true  snake-stone — rarer  still, 

One  of  the  other  sort,  the  melon-shaped. 


GOD  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN 


3ii 


(But  fitter,  pounded  fine,  for  charms  than  drugs) 

And  writeth  now  the  twenty-second  time. 

My  journeyings  were  brought  to  Jericho: 

Thus  I  resume.  Who  studious  in  our  art 
Shall  count  a  little  labor  unrepaid? 

I  have  shed  sweat  enough,  left  flesh  and  bone 
On  many  a  flinty  furlong  of  this  land. 

Also  the  country-side  is  all  on  fire 
With  rumors  of  a  marching  hitherward — 

Some  say  Vespasian  cometh,  some  his  son. 

A  black  lynx  snarled  and  pricked  a  tufted  ear; 

Lust  of  my  blood  inflamed  his  yellow  balls : 

I  cried  and  threw  my  staff  and  he  was  gone. 

Twice  have  the  robbers  stripped  and  beaten  me, 

And  once  a  town  declared  me  for  a  spy, 

But  at  the  end  I  reach  Jerusalem, 

Since  this  poor  covert  where  I  pass  the  night, 

This  Bethany,  lies  scarce  the  distance  thence 
A  man  with  plague-sores  at  the  third  degree 
Runs  till  he  drops  down  dead.  Thou  laughest  here ! 
'Sooth,  it  elates  me,  thus  reposed  and  safe, 

To  void  the  stuffing  of  my  travel-scrip 
And  share  with  thee  whatever  Jewry  yields. 

A  viscid  choler  is  observable 
In  tertians,  I  was  nearly  bold  to  say, 

And  falling-sickness  hath  a  happier  cure 
Than  our  school  wots  of :  there's  a  spider  here 
Weaves  no  web,  watches  on*  the  ledge  of  tombs, 
Sprinkled  with  mottles  on  an  ash-gray  back; 

Take  five  and  drop  them  .  .  .  but  who  knows  his  mind, 
The  Syrian  runagate  I  trust  this  to? 

His  service  payeth  me  a  sublimate 
Blown  up  his  nose  to  help  the  ailing  eye. 

Best  wait:  I  reach  Jerusalem  at  morn, 

There  set  in  order  my  experiences, 

Gather  what  most  deserves  and  give  thee  all — 

Or,  I  might  add,  Judea’s  gum-tragacanth 
Scales  off  in  purer  flakes,  shines  clearer-grained, 
Cracks  ’twixt  the  pestle  and  the  porphyry, 


12  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


In  fine,  exceeds  our  produce.  Scalp-disease 
Confounds  me,  crossing  so  with  leprosy — 

Thou  hadst  admired  one  sort  I  gained  at  Zoar — - 
But  zeal  outruns  discretion.  Here  I  end. 

Yet  stay:  my  Syrian  blinketh  gratefully, 

Protesteth  his  devotion  is  my  price — 

Suppose  I  write  what  harms  not,  though  he  steal? 
I  half  resolve  to  tell  thee,  yet  I  blush, 

What  set  me  off  a-writing  first  of  all. 

An  itch  I  had,  a  sting  to  write,  a  tang ! 

For,  be  it  this  town’s  barrenness — or  else 
The  Man  had  something  in  the  look  of  him — 

His  case  has  struck  me  far  more  than  ’tis  worth. 

So,  pardon  if — (lest  presently  I  lose 

In  the  great  press  of  novelty  at  hand 

The  care  and  pains  this  somehow  stole  from  me) 

I  bid  thee  take  the  thing  while  fresh  in  mind, 
Almost  in  sight — for,  wilt  thou  have  the  truth? 
The  very  man  is  gone  from  me  but  now, 

Whose  ailment  is  the  subject  of  discourse. 

Thus,  then,  and  let  thy  better  wit  help  all. 

’Tis  but  a  case  of  mania — subinduced 

By  epilepsy,  at  the  turning-point 

Of  trance  prolonged  unduly  some  three  days, 

When  by  the  exhibition  of  some  drug 

Or  spell,  exorcisation,  stroke  of  art 

Unknown  to  me  and  which  ’twere  well  to  know, 

The  evil  thing  out-breaking  all  at  once 

Left  the  man  whole  and  sound  of  body  indeed,— 

But,  flinging,  so  to  speak,  life’s  gates  too  wide, 

Making  a  clear  house  of  it  too  suddenly, 

The  first  conceit  that  entered  might  inscribe 
Whatever  it  was  minded  on  the  wall 
So  plainly  at  that  vantage,  as  it  were, 

(First  come,  first  served)  that  nothing  subsequent 
Attaineth  to  erase  the  fancy-scrawls 
Which  the  returned  and  new-established  soul 
Hath  gotten  now  so  thoroughly  by  heart 
That  henceforth  she  will  read  or  these  or  none. 


GOD  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN 


3i3 


And  first — the  man’s  own  firm  conviction  rests 
That  he  was  dead  (in  fact  they  buried  him) 

— That  he  was  dead  and  then  restored  to  life 
By  a  Nazarene  physician  of  his  tribe: 

— ’Sayeth,  the  same  bade  “Rise,”  and  he  did  rise. 
“Such  cases  are  diurnal”  thou  wilt  cry. 

Not  so  this  figment: — not,  that  such  a  fume, 

Instead  of  giving  way  to  time  and  health, 

Should  eat  itself  into  the  life  of  life, 

As  saffron  tingeth  flesh,  blood,  bones  and  all ! 

For  see,  how  he  takes  up  the  after-life, 

The  man — it  is  one  Lazarus,  a  Jew, 

Sanguine,  proportioned,  fifty  years  of  age, 

The  body’s  habit  wholly  laudable, 

As  much,  indeed,  beyond  the  common  health 
As  he  were  made  and  put  aside  to  show. 

Think,  could  we  penetrate  by  any  drug 
And  bathe  the  wearied  soul  and  worried  flesh, 

And  bring  it  clear  and  fair,  by  three  days’  sleep ! 
Whence  has  the  man  the  balm  that  brightens  all  ? 

This  grown  man  eyes  the  world  now  like  a  child. 

Some  elders  of  his  tribe,  I  should  premise, 

Led  in  their  friend,  obedient  as  a  sheep, 

To  bear  my  inquisition.  While  they  spoke, 

Now  sharply,  now  with  sorrow, — told  the  case, — 

He  listened  not  except  I  spoke  to  him, 

But  folded  his  two  hands  and  let  them  talk, 

Watching  the  flies  that  buzzed :  and  yet  no  fool. 

And  that’s  a  sample  how  his  years  must  go. 

Look,  if  a  beggar,  in  fixed  middle-life, 

Should  find  a  treasure,  can  he  use  the  same 
With  straightened  habits  and  with  tastes  starved  small. 
And  take  at  once  to  his  impoverished  brain 
The  sudden  element  that  changes  things, 

That  sets  the  undreamed-of  rapture  at  his  hand, 

And  puts  the  old  cheap  joy  in  the  scorned  dust? 

Is  he  not  such  an  one  as  moves  to  mirth — 

Warily  parsimonious,  when  no  need, 

Wasteful  as  drunkenness  at  undue  times? 

All  prudent  counsel  as  to  what  befits 


314  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


The  golden  mean,  is  lost  on  such  an  one. 
The  man’s  fantastic  will  is  the  man’s  law. 


And  oft  the  man’s  soul  springs  into  his  face 
As  if  he  saw  again  and  heard  again 
His  sage  that  bade  him  “Rise”  and  he  did  rise. 
Something — a  word,  a  tick  o’  the  blood  within 
Admonishes — then  back  he  sinks  at  once 
To  ashes,  that  was  very  fire  before, 

In  sedulous  recurrence  to  his  trade 
Whereby  he  earneth  him  the  daily  bread — 

And  studiously  the  humbler  for  that  pride, 

Professedly  the  faultier  that  he  knows 
God’s  secret  while  he  holds  the  thread  of  life. 

Indeed  the  especial  marking  of  the  man 
Is  prone  submission  to  the  heavenly  will — 

Seeing  it,  what  it  is,  and  why  it  is. 

— ’Sayeth,  he  will  wait  patient  to  the  last 
For  that  same  death  which  must  restore  his  being 
To  equilibrium,  body  loosening  soul 
Divorced  even  now  by  premature  full  growth : 

He  will  live,  nay,  it  pleaseth  him  to  live 
So  long  as  God  please,  and  just  how  God  please.  .  .  . 
Hence  I  perceive  not  he  affects  to  preach 
The  doctrine  of  his  sect  whate’er  it  be — 

Make  proselytes  as  madmen  thirst  to  do. 

How  can  he  give  his  neighbor  the  real  ground, 

His  own  conviction?  ardent  as  he  is — 

Call  his  great  truth  a  lie,  why  still  the  old 
“Be  it  as  God  please”  reassureth  him. 

I  probed  the  sore  as  thy  disciple  should — 

"How,  beast,”  said  I,  "this  stolid  carelessness 
Sufficeth  thee,  when  Rome  is  on  her  march 
To  stamp  out  like  a  little  spark  thy  town, 

Thy  tribe,  thy  crazy  tale  and  thee  at  once  ?” 

He  merely  looked  with  his  large  eyes  on  me. 

The  man  is  apathetic,  you  deduce  ? 

Contrariwise,  he  loves  both  old  and  young, 

Able  and  weak — affects  the  very  brutes 
And  birds,  how  say  I?  flowers  of  the  field — 


GOD  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN 


3i5 


As  a  wise  workman  recognizes  tools 

In  a  master’s  workshop,  loving  what  they  make. 

Thus  is  the  man  as  harmless  as  a  lamb : 

Only  impatient,  let  him  do  his  best, 

At  ignorance  and  carelessness  and  sin — 

An  indignation  which  is  promptly  curbed : 

As  when  in  certain  travels  I  have  feigned 
To  be  an  ignoramus  in  our  art 
According  to  some  preconceived  design, 

And  happed  to  hear  the  land’s  practitioners 
Steeped  in  conceit  sublimed  by  ignorance, 

Prattle  fantastically  on  disease, 

Its  cause  and  cure — and  I  must  hold  my  peace ! 

Thou  wilt  object — why  have  I  not  ere  this 
Sought  out  the  sage  himself,  the  Nazarene 
Who  wrought  this  cure,  inquiring  at  the  source, 
Conferring  with  the  frankness  that  befits? 

Alas !  it  grieveth  me,  the  learned  leech 
Perished  in  a  tumult  many  years  ago, 

Accused, — our  learning’s  fate, — of  wizardry. 

Rebellion,  to  the  setting  up  a  rule 
And  creed  prodigious  as  described  to  me. 

His  death  which  happened  when  the  earthquake  fell 
(Prefiguring,  as  soon  appeared,  the  loss 
To  occult  learning  in  our  lord  the  sage 
That  lived  there  in  the  pyramid  alone) 

Was  wrought  by  the  mad  people, — that’s  their  wTont — 
On  vain  recourse,  as  I  conjecture  it, 

To  his  tried  virtue,  for  miraculous  help — 

How  could  he  stop  the  earthquake  ?  That’s  their  way ! 
The  other  imputations  must  be  lies : 

But  take  one — though  I  loathe  to  give  it  thee, 

In  mere  respect  for  any  good  man’s  fame ! 

(And  after  all,  our  patient  Lazarus 
Is  stark  mad — should  we  count  on  what  he  says? 
Perhaps  not — though  in  writing  to  a  leech 
’Tis  well  to  keep  back  nothing  of  a  case.) 

This  man  so  cured  regards  the  curer  then, 

As — God  forgive  me — who  but  God  himself, 


3i 6  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

Creator  and  Sustainer  of  the  world, 

That  came  and  dwelt  in  flesh  on  it  awhile ! 

— ’Sayeth  that  such  an  One  was  born  and  lived, 
Taught,  healed  the  sick,  broke  bread  at  his  own  house, 
Then  died,  with  Lazarus  by,  for  aught  I  know, 

And  yet  was  .  .  .  what  I  said  nor  choose  repeat, 

And  must  have  so  avouched  himself,  in  fact, 

In  hearing  of  this  very  Lazarus 

Who  saith — but  why  all  this  of  what  he  saith  ? 

Why  write  of  trivial  matters,  things  of  price 
Calling  at  every  moment  for  remark? 

I  noticed  on  the  margin  of  a  pool 
Blue-flowering  borage,  the  Aleppo  sort, 

Aboundeth,  very  nitrous.  It  is  strange ! 

Thy  pardon  for  this  long  and  tedious  case, 

Which,  now  that  I  review  it,  needs  must  seem 
Unduly  dwelt  on,  prolixly  set  forth. 

Nor  I  myself  discern  in  what  is  writ 

Good  cause  for  the  peculiar  interest 

And  awe  indeed  this  man  has  touched  me  with. 

Perhaps  the  journey’s  end,  the  weariness 
Had  wrought  upon  me  first.  I  met  him  thus — 

I  crossed  a  ridge  of  short  sharp  broken  hills 
Like  an  old  lion’s  cheek-teeth.  Out  there  came 
A  moon  made  like  a  face  with  certain  spots 
Multiform,  manifold,  and  menacing: 

Then  a  wind  rose  behind  me.  So  we  met 
In  this  old  sleepy  town  at  unaware, 

The  man  and  I.  I  send  thee  what  is  writ. 

Regard  it  as  a  chance,  a  matter  risked 
To  this  ambiguous  Syrian — he  may  lose, 

Or  steal,  or  give  it  thee  with  equal  good. 

Jerusalem’s  repose  shall  make  amends 

For  time  this  letter  wastes,  thy  time  and  mine, 

Till  when,  once  more  they  pardon  and  farewell ! 

The  very  God !  think,  Abib ;  dost  thou  think  ? 

So,  the  All-Great  were  the  All-Loving,  too — 

So,  through  the  thunder  comes  a  human  voice 


GOD  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN 


317 


Saying,  “O  heart  I  made,  a  heart  beats  here ! 
Face,  my  hands  fashioned,  see  it  in  myself. 

Thou  hast  no  power  nor  mayst  conceive  of  mine, 
But  love  I  gave  thee,  with  myself  to  love, 

And  thou  must  love  me  who  have  died  for  thee !” 
The  madman  saith  He  said  so :  it  is  strange. 


THE  HOLY  NATIVITY  OF  OUR  LORD  GOD 

Richard  Crashaw 
A  Hymn  as  Sung  by  the  Shepherds 
Chorus 

Come,  we  shepherds,  whose  blest  sight 
Hath  met  Love’s  noon  in  Nature’s  night; 

Come,  we  lift  up  our  loftier  song 
And  wake  the  sun  that  lies  too  long. 

To  all  our  world  of  well-stol’n  joy 
He  slept,  and  dreamt  of  no  such  thing; 

While  we  found  our  Heaven’s  fairer  eye 
And  kissed  the  cradle  of  our  King. 

Tell  him  he  rises  now,  too  late 
To  show  us  aught  worth  looking  at. 

Tell  him  we  now  can  show  him  more 
Than  he  e’er  showed  to  mortal  sight; 

Than  he  himself  e’er  saw  before; 

Which  to  be  seen  needs  not  his  light. 

Tell  him,  Tityrus,  where  th’  hast  been 
Tell  him,  Thyrsis,  what  th’  hast  seen. 

T  ityrus 

Gloomy  night  embraced  the  place 
Where  the  noble  Infant  lay. 

The  Babe  looked  up  and  showed  His  face"? 

In  spite  of  darkness  it  was  day. 


3 18  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

It  was  Thy  day,  Sweet !  and  did  rise 
Not  from  the  east,  but  from  Thine  eyes. 

Chorus 

It  was  Thy  day,  Sweet  ... 

T  hyrsis 

Winter  chid  aloud ;  and  sent 
The  angry  North  to  wage  his  wars. 

The  North  forgot  his  fierce  intent; 

And  left  perfumes  instead  of  scars. 

By  those  sweet  eyes’  persuasive  powers, 

Where  he  meant  frost  he  scattered  flowers. 

Chorus 

By  those  sweet  eyes  .  .  . 

Both 

We  saw  Thee  in  Thy  balmy  nest, 

Young  Dawn  of  our  Eternal  Day ! 

We  saw  Thine  eyes  break  from  the  East 
And  chase  the  trembling  shades  away. 

We  saw  Thee  and  we  blest  the  sight. 

We  saw  Thee  by  Thine  own  sweet  light. 

1  -  «  '  .  !  r 

Tityrus 

Poor  World,  said  I,  what  wilt  thou  do 
To  entertain  this  starry  Stranger? 

Is  this  the  best  thou  canst  bestow? 

A  cold,  and  not  too  cleanly,  manger? 

Contend,  the  powers  of  heaven  and  earth. 

To  fit  a  bed  for  this  huge  birth ! 

‘  Chorus 


Contend  the  powers  .  .  . 


3*9 


GOD  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN 

Thyrsis 

Proud  World,  said  I;  cease  your  contest 
And  let  the  mighty  Babe  alone ; 

The  phoenix  builds  the  phoenix’  nest, 

Love’s  architecture  is  his  own ; 

The  Babe  whose  birth  embraves  this  morn, 
Made  His  own  bed  ere  He  was  born. 

Chorus 

The  Babe  whose  .  .  . 

T  ityrus 

I  saw  the  curl’d  drops,  soft  and  slow, 

Come  hovering  o’er  the  place’s  head; 

Offering  their  whitest  sheets  of  snow 
To  furnish  the  fair  Infant’s  bed. 

Forbear,  said  I;  be  not  too  bold; 

Your  fleece  is  white,  but  ’tis  too  cold. 

Chorus 

Forbear,  said  I  .  .  . 

T  hyrsis 

I  saw  the  obsequious  seraphim 
Their  rosy  fleece  of  fire  bestow, 

For  well  they  now  can  spare  their  wings 
Since  Heaven  itself  lies  here  below. 

Well  done,  said  I ;  but  are  you  sure 
Your  down  so  warm,  will  pass  for  pure? 

Chorus 

Well  done,  said  I  .  .  . 

Tityrus 

No,  no,  your  King’s  not  yet  to  seek 
Where  to  repose  His  royal  head ; 


320  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

See,  see  how  soon  His  new-bloomed  cheek 
’Twixt  mother’s  breasts  is  gone  to  bed! 

Sweet  choice,  said  we !  no  way  but  so 
Not  to  lie  cold,  yet  sleep  in  snow. 

Chorus 

Sweet  choice,  said  we  .  .  . 

Both 

We  saw  Thee  in  Thy  balmy  nest, 

Bright  Dawn  of  our  Eternal  Day ! 

We  saw  Thine  eyes  break  from  their  east 
And  chase  the  trembling  shades  away. 

We  saw  Thee,  and  we  blest  the  sight, 

We  saw  Thee  by  Thine  own  sweet  light. 

Chorus 

We  saw  Thee  .  .  . 


Full  Chorus 

Welcome,  all  wonders  in  one  night! 

Eternity  shut  in  a  span, 

Summer  in  winter,  day  in  night, 

Heaven  in  earth,  and  God  in  man. 

Great  Little  One  !  Whose  all-embracing  birth 
Lifts  earth  to  heaven,  stoops  heaven  to  earth. 

Welcome — though  nor  to  gold  nor  silk, 

To  more  than  Caesar’s  birthright  is; 

Two  sister-seas  of  virgin-milk 
With  many  a  rarely-tempered  kiss 

That  breathes  at  once  both  maid  and  mother, 
Warms  in  the  one,  cools  on  the  other. 

Welcome — though  not  to  those  gay  flies 
Gilded  i’  th’  beams  of  earthly  kings, 

Slippery  souls  in  smiling  eyes — 

But  to  poor  shepherds,  homespun  things, 


GOD  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN 


321 


Whose  wealth’s  their  flock,  whose  wit’s  to  be 
Well  read  in  this  simplicity. 

Yet,  when  young  April’s  husband  show’rs 
Shall  bless  the  fruitful  Maia’s  bed, 

We’ll  bring  the  first-born  of  her  flow’rs 
To  kiss  Thy  feet  and  crown  Thy  head. 

To  Thee,  dread  Lamb !  Whose  love  must  keep 
The  shepherds,  more  than  they  the  sheep. 

To  Thee,  meek  Majesty!  soft  King 
Of  simple  graces  and  sweet  loves ! 

Each  of  us  his  lamb  will  bring, 

Each  his  pair  of  silver  doves ! 

Till  burnt  at  last  in  the  fire  of  Thy  fair  eyes, 
Ourselves  become  our  own  best  sacrifice ! 


A  CHRISTMAS  HYMN 

Alfred  Domett 

It  was  the  calm  and  silent  night ! 

Seven  hundred  years  and  fifty-three 
Had  Rome  been  growing  up  to  might, 

And  now  was  Queen  of  land  and  sea. 

No  sound  was  heard  of  clashing  wars; 

Peace  brooded  o’er  the  hushed  domain; 
Apollo,  Pallas,  Jove  and  Mars 

Held  undisturbed  their  ancient  reign, 

In  the  solemn  midnight 
Centuries  ago. 

’Twas  in  the  calm  and  silent  night ! 

The  Senator  of  haughty  Rome, 

Impatient  urged  his  chariot’s  flight, 

In  lordly  revel,  rolling  home : 

Triumphal  arches  gleaming  swell 

His  breast  with  thoughts  of  boundless  sway; 
What  recked  the  Roman  what  befell 


322 


THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

A  paltry  province  far  away, 

In  the  solemn  midnight 
Centuries  ago ! 

Within  that  province  far  away 
Went  plodding  home  a  weary  boor: 

A  streak  of  light  before  him  lay, 

Fall’n  through  a  half-shut  stable  door 
Across  his  path.  He  passed — for  naught 
Told  what  was  going  on  within; 

How  keen  the  stars  !  his  only  thought ; 

The  air  how  calm  and  cold  and  thin, 

In  the  solemn  midnight 
Centuries  ago ! 

O  strange  indifference ! — low  and  high 
Drowsed  over  common  joys  and  cares: 

The  earth  was  still — but  knew  not  why; 

The  world  was  listening — unawares. 

How  calm  a  moment  may  precede 

One  that  shall  thrill  the  world  forever ! 

To  that  still  moment  none  would  heed, 

Man's  doom  was  linked,  no  more  to  sever, 

In  the  solemn  midnight 
Centuries  ago. 

id 

It  is  the  calm  and  solemn  night ! 

A  thousand  bells  ring  out  and  throw 
Their  joyous  peal  abroad,  and  smite 
The  darkness,  charmed  and  holy  now. 

The  night,  that  erst  no  name  had  worn, 

To  it  a  happy  name  is  given: 

Eor  in  that  stable  lay  new-born, 

The  peaceful  Prince  of  Earth  and  Heaven, 

In  the  solemn  midnight 
Centuries  ago. 


GOD  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN 


323 


EXCELLENCY  OF  CHRIST 

Giles  Fletcher 

He  is  a  path,  if  any  be  misled; 

He  is  a  robe,  if  any  naked  be; 

If  any  chance  to  hunger,  he  is  bread; 

If  any  be  a  bondman  he  is  free; 

If  any  be  but  weak,  how  strong  is  he ! 

To  dead  men  life  he  is,  to  sick  men  health; 

To  blind  men  sight,  and  to  the  needy  wealth; 

A  pleasure  without  loss,  a  treasure  without  stealth. 

THE  SONG  OF  A  HEATHEN 

Richard  Watson  Gilder 

(Sojourning  in  Galilee,  A.D.  32) 

If  Jesus  Christ  is  a  man, — 

And  only  a  man, — I  say 
That  of  all  mankind  I  cleave  to  him, 

And  to  him  will  I  cleave  alway. 

If  Jesus  Christ  is  a  god, — 

And  the  only  God, — I  swear 
I  will  follow  Him  through  heaven  and  hell, 
The  earth,  the  sea,  and  the  air ! 

EASTER  CHORUS  FROM  FAUST 
Goethe 

Translated  by  Bayard  Taylor 

Christ  is  arisen ! 

Joy  to  the  Mortal  One, 

Whom  the  unmerited 


324  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


Clinging,  inherited 
Needs  did  imprison. 


Christ  is  ascended ! 

Bliss  hath  invested  him, — 
Woes  that  molested  him, 
Trials  that  tested  him, 
Gloriously  ended ! 

•  •  •  •  • 

Christ  is  arisen 

v  . 

Out  of  Corruption’s  womb 
Burst  ye  the  prison, 

Break  from  your  gloom! 
Praising  and  pleading  him, 
Lovingly  needing  him, 
Brotherly  feeding  him, 
Preaching  and  speeding  him, 
Blessing,  succeeding  Him, 
Thus  is  the  Master  near, — 
Thus  is  He  here ! 


SECOND  SEEING 

Louis  Golding 

If  He  be  truly  Christ 
The  Sacrificed, 

When  I  am  deaf  and  blind  as  they 
Who  hung  Him  up  between 
The  two  thieves  mean, 

In  Calvary  upon  a  moaning  day. 

If  I  not  recognize 
Within  His  eyes 

The  slow  blood  fall  down  pools  of  pain, 

Nor  on  contracted  brows 
The  thorns  that  house 

Their  swords  about  the  anguish  of  His  brain. 


/ 


GOD  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN 


325 


If  I  do  not  perceive 
His  mother  grieve 

Below  the  rood  where  He  hangs  crossed, 
Nor  hear  the  sea  and  wind 
Cry,  “Thou  hast  sinned!” 

Then  woe  is  me  that  I  am  doubly  lost. 

This  is  not  He  alone 
Whom  I  have  known, 

This  is  all  Christs  since  time  began. 

The  blood  of  all  the  dead 
His  veins  have  shed, 

For  He  is  God  and  Ghost  and  Everyman. 


REALITY 

Frances  Ridley  Havergal 
Reality,  reality. 

Lord  Jesus  Christ  Thou  art  to  me ! 

From  the  spectral  mist  and  the  driving  clouds, 
From  the  shifting  shadows  and  phantom  crowds 
From  unreal  words  and  unreal  lives, 

Where  truth  with  falsehood  feebly  strives ; 
From  the  passings  away,  the  chance  and  change, 
Flickerings,  vanishings,  swift  and  strange, 

I  turn  to  my  glorious  rest  in  Thee, 

Who  art  the  grand  Reality ! 

Reality  in  greatest  need, 

Lord  Jesus  Christ  Thou  art  indeed! 

Is  the  pilot  real  who  alone  can  guide 
The  drifting  ship  e’er  the  midnight  tide? 

Is  the  life-boat  real,  as  it  nears  the  wreck, 

And  the  saved  ones  leap  from  the  parting  deck? 
Is  the  haven  real,  where  the  barque  may  flee 
From  the  autumn  gales  of  the  wild  north  sea? 
Reality  indeed  art  Thou, 

My  pilot,  life-boat,  haven  now. 


326  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 
Reality,  reality, 

In  the  brightest  days  art  Thou  to  me ! 

Thou  art  the  sunshine  of  my  mirth, 

Thou  art  the  heaven  above  my  earth, 

The  spring  of  love  of  all  my  heart, 

And  the  fountain  of  my  song  Thou  art ; 

For  dearer  than  the  dearest  now, 

And  better  than  the  best  art  Thou, 

Beloved  Lord,  in  whom  I  see 
Joy-giving,  glad  Reality. 

Reality,  reality, 

Lord  Jesus  Thou  hast  been  to  me, 

When  I  thought  the  dream  of  life  was  past 
And  “the  Master’s  home-call”  come  at  last; 
When  I  thought  I  had  only  to  wait 
A  little  while  at  the  Golden  Gate, — 

Only  another  day  or  two, 

Till  Thou  Thyself  shouldst  bear  me  through; 
How  real  Thy  presence  was  to  me ! 

How  precious  Thy  Reality ! 

Reality,  reality, 

Lord  Jesus  Christ  Thou  art  to  me; 

Thy  name  is  sweeter  than  songs  of  old, 

Thy  words  are  better  than  “most  fine  gold,” 

Thy  deeds  are  greater  than  hero-glory, 

Thy  life  is  grander  than  poet  story; 

But  Thou,  Thyself  for  aye  the  same 
Art  more  than  words  and  life  and  name ! 
Thyself  Thou  hast  revealed  to  me, 

In  glorious  reality. 

Reality,  reality, 

Lord  Jesus  Christ  is  crowned  in  Thee, 

In  Thee  is  every  type  fulfilled, 

In  Thee  is  every  yearning  stilled 
For  perfect  beauty,  truth  and  love: 

For  Thou  art  always  far  above 
The  grandest  glimpse  of  our  Ideal, 


GOD  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN 


327 


Yet  more  and  more  we  know  Thee  real, 
And  marvel  more  and  more  to  see 
Thine  infinite  Reality. 

Reality,  reality, 

Lord  Jesus  Christ  Thou  art  to  me ! 

My  glorious  king,  my  Lord,  my  God, 

Life  is  too  short  for  half  the  laud, 

For  half  the  debt  of  praise  I  owe, 

For  this  blest  knowledge  that  “I  know 
The  reality  of  Jesus  Christ,” — 
Unmeasured  blessing,  gift  unpriced ! 

Will  I  not  praise  Thee  when  I  see 
In  the  long  noon  of  Eternity 
Unveiled,  Thy  “bright  reality”? 


THAT  HOLY  THING 

George  MacDonald 

They  all  were  looking  for  a  king 

To  slay  their  foes  and  lift  them  high : 
Thou  cam’st,  a  little  baby  thing 
That  made  a  woman  cry. 

O  son  of  Man,  to  right  my  lot 

Naught  but  thy  presence  can  avail ; 
Yet  on  the  road  thy  wheels  are  not, 

Nor  on  the  seas  thy  sail. 


ON  THE  MORNING  OF  CHRISTS  NATIVITY 

John  Milton 

This  is  the  month,  and  this  the  happy  morn, 

Wherein  the  Son  of  Heaven’s  eternal  King, 

Of  wedded  maid  and  virgin  mother  born, 

Our  great  redemption  from  above  did  bring; 


328  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


For  so  the  holy  sages  once  did  sing, 

That  he  our  deadly  forfeit  should  release, 

And  with  his  Father  work  us  a  perpetual  peace. 

That  glorious  form,  that  light  unsufferable, 

And  that  far-beaming  blaze  of  majesty, 

Wherewith  he  wont  at  Heaven’s  high  council-table 
To  sit  the  midst  of  Trinal  Unity, 

He  laid  aside;  and  here  with  us  to  be, 

Forsook  the  courts  of  everlasting  day, 

And  chose  with  us  a  darksome  house  of  mortal  clay. 

Say,  Heavenly  Muse,  shall  not  thy  sacred  vein 
Afford  a  present  to  the  Infant  God? 

Hast  thou  no  verse,  no  hymn,  or  solemn  strain, 

To  welcome  him  to  this  his  new  abode, 

Now  while  the  heaven,  by  the  sun’s  team  untrod, 

Hath  took  no  print  of  the  approaching  light, 

And  all  the  spangled  host  keep  watch  in  squadrons  bright 

See  how  from  far  upon  the  eastern  road 
The  star-led  wisards  haste  with  odours  sweet ! 

Oh  !  run,  prevent  them  with  thy  humble  ode, 

And  lay  it  lowly  at  his  blessed  feet; 

Have  thou  the  honour  first  my  Lord  to  greet, 

And  join  thy  voice  unto  the  angel  quire, 

From  out  his  secret  altar  touched  with  hallowed  fire. 

The  Hymn 

It  was  the  winter  wild, 

While  the  heaven-born  child 

All  meanly  wrapt  in  the  rude  mangel  lies; 

Nature,  in  awe  to  him, 

Had  doffed  her  gaudy  trim, 

With  her  great  Master  so  to  sympathize: 

It  was  no  season  then  for  her 

To  wanton  with  the  sun,  her  lusty  paramour. 

Only  with  speeches  fair 
She  woos  the  gentle  air 

To  hide  her  guilty  front  with  innocent  snow. 


GOD  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN 


329 


And  on  her  naked  shame, 

Pollute  with  sinful  blame, 

The  saintly  veil  of  maiden  white  to  throw; 
Confounded,  that  her  Maker’s  eyes 
Should  look  so  near  upon  her  foul  deformities. 

But  he,  her  fears  to  cease, 

Sent  down  the  meek-eyed  Peace  : 

She,  crowned  with  olive  green,  came  softly  sliding 
Down  through  the  turning  sphere, 

His  ready  harbinger, 

With  turtle  wing  the  amorous  clouds  dividing; 
And  waving  wide  her  myrtle  wand, 

She  strikes  a  universal  peace  through  sea  and  land. 

No  war,  or  battle’s  sound, 

Was  heard  the  world  around; 

The  idle  spear  and  shield  were  high  uphung; 

The  hooked  chariot  stood 
Unstained  with  hostile  blood; 

The  trumpet  spake  not  to  the  armed  throng ; 

And  kings  sat  still  with  awful  eye, 

As  if  they  surely  knew  their  sovran  lord  was  by. 

But  peaceful  was  the  night 
Wherein  the  Prince  of  Light 

His  reign  of  peace  upon  the  earth  began: 

The  winds,  with  wonder  whist, 

Smoothly  the  waters  kissed, 

Whispering  new  joys  to  the  mild  ocean, 

Who  now  hath  quite  forgot  to  rave, 

While  birds  of  calm  sit  brooding  on  the  charmed  wave. 

The  stars,  with  deep  amaze, 

Stand  fixed  in  steadfast  gaze, 

Bending  one  way  their  precious  influence, 

And  will  not  take  their  flight, 

For  all  the  morning  light, 

Or  Lucifer  that  often  warned  them  thence; 

But  in  their  glimmering  orbs  did  glow, 

Until  their  Lord  himself  bespake  and  bid  them  go. 


330  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

And  though  the  shady  gloom 
Had  given  day  her  room, 

The  sun  himself  withheld  his  wonted  speed, 

And  hid  his  head  for  shame, 

As  his  inferior  flame 

The  new-enlightened  world  no  more  should  need: 

Pie  saw  a  greater  Sun  appear 

Than  his  bright  throne  or  burning  axletree  could  bear. 

The  shepherds  on  the  lawn, 

Or  ere  the  point  of  dawn, 

Sat  simply  chatting  in  a  rustic  row; 

Full  little  thought  they  than, 

That  the  mighty  Pan 

Was  kindly  come  to  live  with  them  below: 

Perhaps  their  loves,  or  else  their  sheep. 

Was  all  that  did  their  silly  thoughts  so  busy  keep. 

When  such  music  sweet 
Their  hearts  and  ears  did  greet 

As  never  was  by  mortal  finger  strook, 
Divinely-warbled  voice 
Answering  the  stringed  noise. 

As  all  their  souls  in  blissful  rapture  took : 

The  air,  such  pleasure  loath  to  lose, 

With  thousand  echoes  still  prolongs  each  heavenly  close. 

Nature,  that  heard  such  sound 
Beneath  the  hollow  round 

Of  Cynthia’s  seat  the  airy  region  thrilling, 

Now  was  almost  won 
To  think  her  part  was  done, 

And  that  her  reign  had  here  its  last  fulfilling: 

She  knew  such  harmony  alone 

Could  hold  all  heaven  and  earth  in  happier  union. 

At  last  surrounds  their  sight 
A  globe  of  circular  light, 

That  with  long  beams  the  shame-faced  night  arrayed 


GOD  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN 

The  helmed  cherubim 
And  sworded  seraphim 

Are  seen  in  glittering  ranks  with  wings  displayed, 
Harping  in  loud  and  solemn  quire, 

With  unexpressive  notes,  to  Heaven’s  new-born  heir. 

Such  music  (as  ’tis  said) 

Before  was  never  made, 

But  when  of  old  the  sons  of  morning  sung,  ■ 

While  the  Creator  great 
His  constellations  set, 

And  the  well-balanced  world  on  hinges  hung, 

And  cast  the  dark  foundations  deep, 

And  bid  the  weltering  waves  their  oozy  channel  keep. 

Ring  out,  ye  crystal  spheres ! 

Once  bless  our  human  ears 

(If  ye  have  power  to  touch  our  senses  so), 

And  let  your  silver  chime 
Move  in  melodious  time ; 

And  let  the  bass  of  heaven’s  deep  organ  blow; 

And  with  your  ninefold  harmony 

Make  up  full  consort  to  the  angelic  symphony. 

For  if  such  holy  song 
Enwrap  our  fancy  long, 

Time  will  run  back  and  fetch  the  age  of  gold; 

And  speckled  Vanity 
Will  sicken  soon  and  die, 

And  leprous  Sin  will  melt  from  earthly  mould; 

And  Hell  itself  will,  pass  away, 

And  leave  her  dolorous  mansions  to  the  peering  day. 

Yea,  Truth  and  Justice  then 
Will  down  return  to  men, 

Orbed  in  a  rainbow;  and,  like  glories  wearing. 
Mercy  will  sit  between, 

Throned  in  celestial  sheen, 

With  radiant  feet  the  tissued  clouds  down  steering; 
And  Heaven,  as  at  some  festival, 

Will  open  wide  the  gates  of  her  high  Palace  Hall. 


332  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

But  wisest  Fate  says  no, 

This  must  not  yet  be  so ; 

The  Babe  lies  yet  in  smiling  infancy 
That  on  the  bitter  cross 
Must  redeem  our  loss, 

So  both  himself  and  us  to  glorify: 

Yet  first,  to  those  ychained  in  sleep, 

The  wakeful  trump  of  doom  must  thunder  through  the 
deep. 

With  such  a  horrid  clang 
As  on  Mount  Sinai  rang, 

While  the  red  fire  and  smouldering  clouds  outbrake; 
The  aged  earth,  aghast 
With  terror  of  that  blast, 

Shall  from  the  surface  to  the  center  shake, 

When  at  the  world’s  last  session, 

The  dreadful  Judge  in  middle  air  shall  spread  his  throne. 

And  then  at  last  our  bliss 
Full  and  perfect  is, 

But  now  begins;  for  from  this  happy  day 
The  old  Dragon  underground, 

In  straiter  limits  bound, 

Not  half  so  far  casts  his  usurped  sway; 

And  wroth  to  see  his  kingdom  fail, 

Swinges  the  scaly  horror  of  his  folded  tail. 

The  oracles  are  dumb; 

No  voice  or  hideous  hum 

Runs  through  the  arched  roof  in  words  deceiving. 
Apollo  from  his  shrine 
Can  no  more  divine, 

With  hollow  shriek  the  steep  of  Delphos  leaving. 

No  nightly  trance,  or  breathed  spell, 

Inspires  the  pale-eyed  priest  from  the  prophetic  cell. 

The  lonely  mountains  o’er, 

And  the  resounding  shore, 

A  voice  of  weeping  heard  and  loud  lament; 


GOD  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN 


333 


From  haunted  spring,  and  dale 
Edged  with  poplar  pale, 

The  parting  Genius  is  with  sighing  sent; 

With  flower-inwoven  tresses  torn 

The  Nymphs  in  twilight  shade  of  tangled  thickets  mourn. 

In  consecrated  earth, 

And  on  the  holy  hearth, 

The  Lars  and  Lemures  moan  with  midnight  plaint; 
In  urns  and  altars  round, 

A  drear  and  dying  sound 

Affrights  the  flamens  at  their  service  quaint; 

And  the  chill  marble  seems  to  sweat, 

While  each  peculiar  power  forgoes  his  wonted  seat. 

Peor  and  Baalim 
Forsake  their  temples  dim, 

With  that  twice-battered  god  of  Palestine; 

And  mooned  Ashtaroth, 

Heaven’s  queen  and  mother  both, 

Now  sits  not  girt  with  tapers’  holy  shine; 

The  Libyc  Hammon  shrinks  his  horn; 

In  vain  the  Tyrian  maids  their  wounded  Thammuz  mourn. 

And  sullen  Moloch,  fled, 

Hath  left  in  shadows  dread 

His  burning  idol  all  of  blackest  hue; 

In  vain  with  cymbals’  ring 
They  call  the  grisly  king, 

In  dismal  dance  about  the  furnace  blue; 

The  brutish  gods  of  Nile  as  fast, 

Isis  and  Orus  and  the  dog  Anubis,  haste. 

Nor  is  Osiris  seen 
In  Memphian  grove  or  green, 

Trampling  the  unshowered  grass  with  lowings  loud; 
Nor  can  he  be  at  rest 
Within  his  sacred  chest; 

Naught  but  profoundest  Hell  can  be  his  shroud; 

In  vain,  with  timbrelled  anthems  dark, 

The  sable-stoled  sorcerers  bear  his  worshipped  ark. 


334  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

He  feels  from  Juda’s  land 
The  dreaded  Infant’s  hand; 

The  rays  of  Bethlehem  blind  his  dusky  eyn; 

Nor  all  the  gods  beside 
Longer  dare  abide, 

Not  Typhon  huge  ending  in  snaky  twine : 

Our  Babe,  to  show  his  Godhead  true, 

Can  in  his  swaddling  bands  control  the  damned  crew. 

So  when  the  sun  in  bed, 

Curtained  with  cloudy  red, 

Pillows  his  chin  upon  an  orient  wave, 

The  flocking  shadows  pale 
Troop  to  the  infernal  jail, 

Each  fettered  ghost  slips  to  his  several  grave, 

And  the  yellow-skirted  fays 

Fly  after  the  night-steeds,  leaving  their  moon-loved  maze. 

But  see !  The  Virgin  blest 
Hath  laid  her  Babe  to  rest. 

Time  is  our  tedious  song  should  here  have  ending : 
Heaven’s  youngest-teemed  star 
Hath  fixed  her  polished  car 

Her  sleeping  Lord  with  handmaid  lamp  attending; 
And  all  about  the  courtly  stable 
Bright-harnessed  angels  sit  in  order  serviceable. 


THE  WAY,  THE  TRUTH,  AND  THE  LIFE 
Theodore  Parker 

O  thou  great  Friend  to  all  the  sons  of  men, 

Who  once  appear’dst  in  humblest  guise  below, 

Sin  to  rebuke,  to  break  the  captive’s  chain, 

To  call  thy  brethren  forth  from  want  and  woe ! — 
Thee  would  I  sing.  Thy  truth  is  still  the  light 
Which  guides  the  nations  groping  on  their  way, 
Stumbling  and  falling  in  disastrous  night, 

Yet  hoping  ever  for  the  perfect  day. 


GOD  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN 


335 


Yes,  thou  art  still  the  life;  thou  art  the  way 
The  holiest  know, — light,  life,  and  way  of  heaven; 

And  they  who  dearest  hope  and  deepest  pray 
Toil  by  the  truth,  life,  way  that  thou  hast  given; 

And  in  thy  name  aspiring  mortals  trust 

To  uplift  their  bleeding  brothers  rescued  from  the  dust. 


MARY’S  GIRLHOOD 
Gabriel  Charles  Dante  Rossetti 

This  is  that  blessed  Mary,  pre-elect 

God’s  virgin.  Gone  is  a  great  while,  and  she 
Dwelt  young  in  Nazareth  of  Galilee. 

Unto  God’s  will  she  brought  devout  respect, 
Profound  simplicity  of  intellect 
And  supreme  patience.  From  her  mother’s  knee 
Faithful  and  hopeful;  wise  in  charity; 

Strong  in  grave  peace;  in  pity  circumspect. 

So  held  she  through  her  girlhood;  as  it  were 
An  angel-watered  lily,  that  near  God 

Grows  and  is  quiet.  Till,  one  dawn  at  home 

She  woke  in  her  white  bed,  and  had  no  fear 
At  all, — yet  wept  till  sunshine,  and  felt  awed : 
Because  the  fullness  of  the  time  was  come. 


DOMINE  QUO  VADIS  ? 

William  Watson 

Darkening  the  azure  roof  of  Nero’s  world, 

From  smouldering  Rome  the  smoke  of  ruin  curled; 

And  the  fierce  populace  went  clamoring — 

“These  Christian  dogs,  ’tis  they  have  done  this  thing!” 

So  to  the  wild  wolf  Hate  were  sacrificed 

The  panting,  huddled  flock  whose  crime  was  Christ. 


336  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

Now  Peter  lodged  in  Rome,  and  rose  each  morn 
Looking  to  be  ere  night  in  sunder  torn 
By  those  blind  hands  that  with  inebriate  zeal 
Burned  the  strong  saints,  or  broke  them  on  the  wheel, 

Or  flung  them  to  the  lions  to  make  mirth 

For  dames  that  ruled  the  lords  that  ruled  the  earth. 

And  unto  him  their  towering  rocky  hold, 

Repaired  those  sheep  of  the  Good  Shepherd’s  fold 
In  whose  white  fleece  as  yet  no  blood  or  foam 
Bear  witness  to  the  ravening  fangs  of  Rome. 

“More  light,  more  cheap,”  they  cried,  “we  hold  our  lives 
Than  chaff  the  flail  or  dust  the  whirlwind  drives: 

As  chaff  they  are  winnowed  and  as  dust  are  blown; 

Nay,  they  are  nought;  but  priceless  is  thine  own. 

Not  in  yon  streaming  shambles  must  thou  die; 

We  counsel,  we  entreat,  we  charge  thee,  fly!” 

And  Peter  answered:  “Nay,  my  place  is  here; 

Through  the  dread  storm,  this  ship  of  Christ  I  steer. 

Blind  is  the  tempest,  deaf  the  roaring  tide, 

And  I,  His  pilot,  at  the  helm  abide.” 

Then  One  stood  forth,  the  flashing  of  whose  soul 
Enrayed  his  presence  like  an  aureole. 

Eager  he  spake ;  his  fellows,  ere  they  heard, 

Caught  from  his  eyes  the  swift  and  leaping  word: 

“Let  us  His  vines,  be  in  the  wine-press  trod, 

And  poured  a  beverage  for  the  lips  of  God; 

“Or,  ground  as  wheat  of  His  eternal  field, 

Bread  for  His  table  let  our  bodies  yield. 

Behold,  the  church  hath  other  use  for  thee ; 

Thy  safety  is  her  own,  and  thou  must  flee. 

Ours  be  the  glory  at  her  call  to  die, 

But  quick  and  whole  God  needs  His  great  ally.” 

And  Peter  said :  “Do  lords  of  spear  and  shield 
Thus  leave  their  hosts  uncaptained  on  the  field, 

And  from  some  mount  of  prospect  watch  afar 
The  havoc  of  the  hurricane  of  war  ? 


GOD  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN 


337 


Yet,  if  He  wills  it  .  .  .  Nay,  my  task  is  plain, — 
To  serve,  and  to  endure,  and  to  remain. 

But  weak  I  stand,  and  I  beseech  you  all 
Urge  me  no  more,  lest  at  a  touch  I  fall.” 

There  knelt  a  noble  youth  at  Peter’s  feet, 

And  like  a  viol’s  strings  his  voice  was  sweet. 

A  suppliant  angel  might  have  pleaded  so, 

Crowned  with  the  splendor  of  some  suppliant  woe. 
He  said :  “My  sire  and  brethren  yesterday 
The  heathen  did  with  ghastly  torments  slay. 

Pain,  like  a  worm,  beneath  their  feet  they  trod. 
Their  souls  went  up  like  incense  unto  God. 

An  offering  richer  yet,  can  Heaven  require? 

O  live,  and  be  my  brethren  and  my  sire.” 

And  Peter  answered:  “Son,  there  is  no  small  need 
That  thou  exhort  me  to  the  easier  deed. 

Rather  I  would  that  thou  and  these  had  lent 
Strength  to  uphold,  not  shatter,  my  intent. 

Already  my  resolve  is  shaken  sore. 

I  pray  thee,  if  thou  love  me,  say  no  more.” 

And  even  as  he  spake,  he  went  apart, 

Somewhat  to  hide  the  brimming  of  his  heart, 
Wherein  a  voice  came  flitting  to  and  fro, 

That  now  said  “Tarry!”  and  anon  said  “Go!” 

And  louder  every  moment,  “Go !”  it  cried, 

And  “Tarry!”  to  a  whisper  sank  and  died. 

And  as  a  leaf  when  summer  is  o’erpast 
Hangs  trembling  ere  it  fall  in  some  chance  blast. 

So  hung  his  trembling  purpose  and  fell  dead ; 

And  he  arose  and  hurried  forth  and  fled, 

Darkness  conniving,  through  the  Capuan  gate, 

From  all  that  heaven  of  love,  that  hell  of  hate, 

To  the  Campania  glimmering  wide  and  still, 

And  strove  to  think  he  did  his  Master’s  will. 

But  spectral  eyes  and  mocking  tongues  pursued, 

And  with  vague  hands  he  fought  a  phantom  brood. 
Doubts,  like  a  swarm  of  gnats,  o’erhung  his  flight, 
And,  “Lord,”  he  prayed,  “Have  I  not  done  aright?” 


338  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

Can  I  not,  living,  more  avail  for  Thee 
Than  whelmed  in  yon  red  storm  of  agony? 

The  tempest,  it  shall  pass  and  I  remain, 

Not  from  its  fiery  sickle  saved  in  vain. 

Are  there  no  seeds  to  sow,  no  desert  lands 
Waiting  the  tillage  of  these  eager  hands, 

That  I  should  beastlike  ’neath  the  butcher  fall, 

More  fruitlessly  than  oxen  from  the  stall  ? 

Is  earth  so  easeful,  is  men’s  hate  so  sweet, 

Are  thorns  so  welcome  unto  sleepless  feet, 

Have  death  and  heaven  so  feeble  lures,  that  I, 

Choosing  to  live,  should  win  rebuke  thereby? 

Not  mine  the  dread  of  pain,  the  lust  of  bliss! 

Master,  who  judgest,  have  I  done  amiss?” 

Lo,  on  the  darkness  brake  a  wandering  ray : 

A  vision  flashed  along  the  Appian  Way, 

Divinely  in  the  pagan  night  it  shone — 

A  mournful  Face — a  Figure  hurrying  on — 

Though  haggard  and  dishevelled,  frail  and  worn, 

A  King,  of  David’s  lineage,  crowned  with  thorn. 

“Lord,  whither  farest  ?”  Peter,  wondering,  cried. 

“To  Rome,”  said  Christ,  “to  be  re-crucified.” 

Into  the  night  the  vision  ebbed  like  breath; 

And  Peter  turned,  and  rushed  on  Rome  and  death 


THE  LEPER 
Nathaniel  P.  Willis 

“Room  for  the  leper!  Room!”  and  as  he  came 
The  cry  passed  on.  “Room  for  the  leper!  Roomt*’ 
And  aside  they  stood — 

Matron,  and  child,  and  pitiless  manhood — all 
Who  met  him  on  his  way — and  let  him  pass. 

And  onward  through  the  open  gate  he  came, 

A  leper,  with  ashes  on  his  brow, 

Sackcloth  about  his  loins,  and  on  his  lip 


GOD  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN 


339 


A  covering — stepping  painfully  and  slow, 

And  with  difficult  utterance,  like  one 
Whose  heart  is  with  an  iron  nerve  put  down, 
Crying,  “Unclean  !  unclean !” 

For  Helon  was  a  leper! 

Day  was  breaking, 

When  at  the  altar  of  the  temple  stood 
The  holy  priest  of  God.  The  incense  lamp 
Burned  with  a  struggling  light,  and  a  low  chant 
Swelled  through  the  hollow  arches  of  the  roof, 
Like  an  articulate  wail ;  and  there,  alone, 

Wasted  to  ghastly  thinness,  Helon  knelt. 

The  echoes  of  the  melancholy  strain 
Died  in  the  distant  aisles,  and  he  rose  up, 
Struggling  with  weakness;  and  bowed  his  head 
Unto  the  sprinkled  ashes,  and  put  off 
His  costly  raiment  for  the  leper’s  garb, 

And  with  the  sackcloth  round  him,  and  his  lip 
Hid  in  the  loathsome  covering,  stood  still, 

Waiting  to  hear  his  doom: — 

“Depart!  depart,  O  child 

Of  Israel  from  the  temple  of  thy  God ! 

For  he  has  smote  thee  with  his  chastening  rod, 
And  to  the  desert  wild, 

From  all  thou  lovest,  away  thy  feet  must  flee, 

That  from  thy  plague  his  people  may  be  free. 

“Depart !  and  come  not  near 

The  busy  mart,  the  crowded  city  more; 

Nor  set  thy  foot  a  human  threshold  o’er; 

And  stay  thou  not  to  hear 
Voices  that  call  thee  in  the  way,  and  fly 
From  all  who  in  the  wilderness  pass  by. 

“Wet  not  thy  burning  lip 

In  streams  that  to  a  human  dwelling  glide; 

Nor  rest  thee  where  the  covert  fountains  hide; 
Nor  kneel  thee  down  to  dip 


I 


340  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

The  water  where  the  pilgrim  bends  to  drink, 

By  desert  well,  or  river’s  grassy  brink. 

“And  pass  thou  not  between 

The  weary  traveller  and  the  cooling  breeze; 

And  lie  not  down  to  sleep  beneath  the  trees 
Where  human  tracks  are  seen. 

Nor  milk  the  goat  that  browseth  on  the  plain, 

Nor  pluck  the  standing  corn,  or  yellow  grain. 

“And  now,  depart !  and  when 

Thy  heart  is  heavy,  and  thine  eyes  are  dim. 

Lift  up  thy  prayer  beseechingly  to  Llim 
Who,  from  the  tribes  of  men, 

Selected  thee  to  feel  His  chastening  rod: — 

Depart,  O  leper,  and  forget  not  God !’’ 

And  he  went  forth, — alone !  Not  one,  of  all 
The  many  whom  he  loved,  nor  she  whose  name 
Was  woven  in  the  fibres  of  his  heart, 

Breaking  within  him  now,  to  come  and  speak 
Comfort  unto  him.  Yea,  he  went  his  way, 

Sick  and  heart-broken  and  alone, — to  die ! 

For  God  had  cursed  the  leper! 

It  was  noon, 

And  Helon  knelt  beside  a  stagnant  pool 
In  the  lone  wilderness,  and  bathed  his  brow. 

Hot  with  the  burning  leprosy,  and  touched 
The  loathsome  water  to  his  fevered  lips, 

Praying  he  might  be  so  blessed, — to  die ! 

Footsteps  approached,  and,  with  no  strength  to  flee 
He  drew  the  covering  closer  on  his  lip, 

Crying,  “Unclean,  unclean!”  and,  in  the  folds 
Of  the  coarse  sackcloth,  shrouding  up  his  face, 

He  fell  upon  the  earth  till  they  should  pass. 

Nearer  the  stranger  came,  and  bending  o’er 
The  leper’s  prostrate  form,  pronounced  his  name, 
“Helon!  Arise!”  The  voice  was  like  the  master-tone 
Of  a  rich  instrument, — most  strangely  sweet; 

And  the  dull  pulses  of  disease  awoke, 


GOD  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN 


34i 


And  for  a  moment  beat  beneath  the  hot 
And  leprous  scales  with  a  restoring  thrill. 

“Helon,  Arise !”  And  he  forgot  his  curse, 

And  rose,  and  stood  before  him.  Love  and  awe 
Mingled  in  the  regard  of  Helon’s  eye 
As  he  beheld  the  stranger.  He  was  not 
In  costly  raiment  clad,  nor  on  his  brow 
The  symbol  of  a  princely  lineage  wore ; 

No  followers  at  his  back,  nor  in  his  hand 
Buckler,  sword,  or  spear;  yet  in  his  mien 
Command  sat  throned  serene,  and,  if  he  smiled, 
A  kingly  condescension  graced  his  lips, 

The  lion  would  have  crouched  to  in  his  lair. 

His  garb  was  simple,  and  his  sandals  worn; 

His  statue  modelled  with  a  perfect  grace; 

His  countenance  the  impress  of  a  God, 

Touched  with  the  open  innocence  of  a  child; 

Llis  eye  was  blue  and  calm,  as  is  the  sky 
In  the  serenest  noon;  his  hair  unshorn 
Fell  to  his  shoulders;  and  his  curling  beard 
The  fullness  of  perfected  manhood  bore. 

He  looked  on  Helon  earnestly  awhile, 

As  if  his  heart  was  moved,  and,  stooping  down, 

He  took  a  little  water  in  his  hand 

And  laid  it  on  his  brow  and  said,  “Be  clean !” 

And  lo !  the  scales  fell  from  him,  and  his  blood 
Coursed  with  delicious  coolness  through  his  veins, 
And  his  dry  palms  grew  moist,  and  on  his  brow 
The  dewy  softness  of  an  infant  stole. 

His  leprosy  was  cleansed,  and  he  fell  down 
Prostrate  at  Jesus’  feet  and  worshipped  hira. 


342  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


2.  Recent 


TO  THE  CHRISTIANS 

Francis  Adams  (English  Poet  and  Rebel) 

Take,  then,  your  paltry  Christ, 

Your  gentleman  God. 

We  want  the  carpenter’s  son, 

With  his  saw  and  hod. 

We  want  the  man  who  loved 
The  poor  and  the  oppressed, 

Who  hated  the  Rich  man  and  the  King 
And  the  Scribe  and  the  Priest. 

V 

We  want  the  Galilean 

Who  knew  the  cross  and  rod. 

It’s  your  “good  taste”  that  prefers 
A  bastard  “God.” 


THE  KINGS  OF  THE  EAST 
Katharine  Lee  Bates 

I 

The  Kings  of  the  East  are  riding 
To-night  to  Bethlehem. 

The  sunset  glows  dividing, 

The  Kings  of  the  East  are  riding; 
A  star  their  journey  guiding, 
Gleaming  with  gold  and  gem 
The  Kings  of  the  East  are  riding 
To-night  to  Bethlehem. 


GOD  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN 

II 


343 


To  a  strange  sweet  harp  of  Zion 
The  starry  host  troops  forth; 

The  golden  glaived  Orion 

To  a  strange  sweet  harp  of  Zion; 

The  Archer  and  the  Lion, 

The  watcher  of  the  North; 

To  a  strange  sweet  harp  of  Zion 
The  starry  host  troops  forth. 

Ill 

There  beams  above  a  manger 
The  child-face  of  a  star; 

Amid  the  stars  a  stranger, 

It  beams  above  a  manger; 

What  means  this  ether-ranger 
To  pause  where  poor  folk  are? 

There  beams  above  a  manger 
The  child-face  of  a  star. 


CRUCIFIXION 

Eva  Gore  Booth 

In  the  crowd’s  multitudinous  mind 
Terror  and  passion  embrace, 

Whilst  the  darkness  heavily  blind 
Hides  face  from  horror-struck  face; 
And  all  men,  huddled  and  dumb, 

Shrink  from  the  death-strangled  cry, 
And  the  hidden  terror  to  come, 

And  the  dead  men  hurrying  by. 

White  gleams  from  the  limbs  of  the  dead 
Raised  high  o’er  the  blood-stained  sod, 
And  the  soldier  shuddered  and  said, 

‘Lo,  this  was  the  Son  of  God.’ 

Nay,  but  all  Life  is  one, 

A  wind  that  wails  through  the  vast, 


344 


THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

And  this  deed  is  never  done, 

This  passion  is  never  past. 

When  any  son  of  man  by  man’s  blind  doom 
On  any  justest  scaffold  strangled  dies, 

Once  more  across  the  shadow-stricken  gloom 
Against  the  sun  the  dark-winged  Horror  flies, 

A  lost  voice  cries  from  the  far  olive  trees 
Weary  and  harsh  with  pain,  a  desolate  cry, 

What  ye  have  done  unto  the  least  of  these 
Is  done  to  God  in  Heaven,  for  earth  and  sky, 

And  bird  and  beast,  green  leaves  and  golden  sun, 
Men’s  dreams,  the  starry  dust,  the  bread,  the  wine, 
Rivers  and  seas,  my  soul  and  his,  are  one 

Through  all  things  flows  one  life  austere,  divine, 
Strangling  the  murderer  you  are  slaying  me, 

Scattering  the  stars  and  leaves  like  broken  bread, 
Casting  dark  shadows  on  the  sun-lit  sea, 

Striking  the  swallows  and  the  sea-gulls  dead, 
Making  the  red  rose  wither  to  its  fall, 

Darkening  the  sunshine,  blasting  the  green  sod, — 
Wounding  one  soul,  you  wound  the  soul  of  all, 

The  unity  of  Life,  the  soul  of  God. 


A  VIRILE  CHRIST 
Rex  Boundy 

Give  us  a  virile  Christ  for  these  rough  days ! 

You  painters,  sculptors,  show  the  warrior  bold 
And  you  who  turn  mere  words  to  gleaming  gold, 
Too  long  your  lips  have  sounded  in  the  praise 
Of  patience  and  humility.  Our  ways 
Have  parted  from  the  quietude  of  old; 

We  need  a  man  of  strength  with  us  to  hold 
The  very  breach  of  Death  without  amaze. 

Did  He  not  scourge  from  temple  courts  the  thieves? 
And  make  the  arch-fiend’s  self  again  to  fall? 

And  blast  the  fig-tree  that  was  only  leaves? 

And  still  the  raging  tumult  of  the  sea? 


GOD  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN 


345 


Did  He  not  bear  the  greatest  pain  of  all. 
Silent,  upon  the  cross  on  Calvary? 


THE  POET 

Witter  Bynner 

A  poet  lived  in  Galilee 

Whose  mother  dearly  knew  him — - 
And  his  beauty  like  a  cooling  tree 
Drew  many  people  to  him. 

He  loved  the  speech  of  simple  men 
And  little  children’s  laughter; 

He  came,  they  always  came  again, 

He  went — they  followed  after. 

He  had  sweet-hearted  things  to  say, 

And  he  was  solemn  only 
When  people  were  unkind  .  .  .  that  day; 
He’d  stand  there  straight  and  lonely 

And  tell  them  what  they  ought  to  do; 

“Love  other  folk,”  he  pleaded, 

“As  you  love  me  and  I  love  you !” 

But  almost  no  one  heeded. 

A  poet  died  in  Galilee 

They  stared  at  him  and  slew  him  .  .  . 
What  would  they  do  to  you  and  me 
If  we  should  say  we  knew  him? 


COMRADE  JESUS 

Sarah  N.  Cleghorn 

Thanks  to  St.  Matthew,  who  had  been 
At  mass-meetings  in  Palestine, 

We  knew  whose  side  was  spoken  for 
When  Comrade  Jesus  took  the  floor. 


346  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

“Where  sore  they  toil  and  hard  they  lie, 

Among  the  great  unwashed,  dwell  I : — 

The  tramp,  the  convict,  I  am  he; 

Cold-shoulder  him,  cold-shoulder  me.” 

By  Dives’  door,  with  thoughtful  eye, 

He  did  tomorrow  prophesy : — 

“The  kingdom’s  gate  is  low  and  small ; 

The  rich  can  scarce  wedge  through  at  all.” 

“A  dangerous  man,”  said  Caiaphas, 

“An  ignorant  demagogue,  alas ! 

Friend  of  low  women,  it  is  he 
Slanders  the  upright  Pharisee.” 

For  law  and  order,  it  was  plain, 

For  Holy  Church,  he  must  be  slain. 

The  troops  are  there  to  awe  the  crowd: 

And  violence  was  not  allowed. 

\ 

Their  clumsy  force  with  force  to  foil 
His  strong,  clean  hands  he  would  not  soil. 

He  saw  their  childishness  quite  plain 
Between  the  lightnings  of  his  pain. 

Between  the  twilights  of  his  end, 

He  made  his  fellow-felon  friend: 

With  swollen  tongue  and  blinded  eyes, 

Invited  him  to  paradise. 

Ah,  let  no  Local  him  refuse ! 

Comrade  Jesus  hath  paid  his  dues. 

Whatever  other  be  debarred, 

Comrade  Jesus  hath  his  red  card. 

CHRIST,  THE  MAN 

William  Henry  Davies 

Lord,  I  say  nothing :  I  profess 

No  faith  in  Thee  nor  Christ  Thy  Son: 

Yet  no  man  ever  heard  me  mock 
A  true  believing  one. 


GOD  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN 


347 


If  knowledge  is  not  great  enough 
To  give  a  man  believing  power, 

Lord  he  must  wait  in  Thy  great  hand 
Till  revelation’s  hour. 

Meanwhile  he’ll  follow  Christ  the  man 
In  that  humanity  He  taught 
#  Which  to  the  poor  and  the  oppressed, 

Gives  its  best  time  and  thought. 

THE  JEW  TO  JESUS 

Florence  Kiper  Frank 

O  Man  of  mine  own  people,  I  alone 
Among  these  alien  ones  can  know  thy  face, 

I  who  have  felt  the  kinship  of  thy  race 
Burn  in  me,  as  I  sit  where  they  intone 
Thy  praises, — those  who,  striving  to  make  known 
A  God  for  sacrifice,  have  missed  the  grace 
Of  thy  sweet  human  meaning  in  its  place, 

Thou  who  art  of  our  blood-bond  and  our  own. 

Are  we  not  sharers  of  thy  passion?  Yea, 

In  spirit-anguish  closely  by  thy  side 

We  have  drained  the  bitter  cup,  and,  tortured,  felt 

With  thee  the  bruising  of  each  heavy  welt. 

Every  land  is  our  Gethsemane. 

A  thousand  times  have  we  been  crucified. 


THE  SECOND  CRUCIFIXION 

Richard  le  Gallienne 

Loud  mockers  in  the  roaring  street 
Say  Christ  is  crucified  again: 

Twice  pierced  his  gospel-bearing  feet, 
Twice  broken  his  great  heart  in  vain. 


348  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

I  hear  and  to  myself  I  smile, 

For  Christ  talks  with  me  all  the  while. 

No  angel  now  to  roll  the  stone 
From  off  his  unawaking  sleep, 

In  vain  shall  Mary  watch  alone, 

In  vain  the  soldiers  vigil  keep. 

Yet  while  they  deem  my  Lord  is  dead 
My  eyes  are  on  his  shining  head. 

Ah !  nevermore  shall  Mary  hear 
That  voice  exceeding  sweet  and  low 
Within  the  garden  calling  clear: 

Her  Lord  is  gone,  and  she  must  go. 

Yet  all  the  while  my  Lord  I  meet 
In  every  London  lane  and  street. 

Poor  Lazarus  shall  wait  in  vain, 

And  Bartimeus  still  go  blind; 

The  healing  hem  shall  ne’er  again 
Be  touched  by  suffering  humankind. 

Yet  all  the  while  I  see  them  rest, 

The  poor  and  outcast,  on  His  breast. 

No  more  unto  the  stubborn  heart 
With  gentle  knocking  shall  he  plead, 

No  more  the  mystic  pity  start, 

For  Christ  twice  dead  is  dead  indeed. 

So  in  the  street  I  hear  men  say, 

Yet  Christ  is  with  me  all  the  day. 


GOD  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN 


349 


A  GUARD  OF  THE  SEPULCHER 
Edwin  Markham 

I  was  a  Roman  soldier  in  my  prime; 

Now  age  is  on  me  and  the  yoke  of  time. 

I  saw  your  Risen  Christ,  for  I  am  he 
Who  reached  the  hyssop  to  Him  on  the  tree; 

And  I  am  one  of  two  who  watched  beside 
The  Sepulcher  of  Him  we  crucified. 

All  that  last  night  I  watched  with  sleepless  eyes; 

Great  stars  arose  and  crept  across  the  skies. 

The  world  was  all  too  still  for  mortal  rest. 

For  pitiless  thoughts  were  busy  in  my  breast. 

The  night  was  long,  so  long,  it  seemed  at  last 
I  had  grown  old  and  a  long  life  had  passed. 

Far  off  the  hills  of  Moab,  touched  with  light, 

Were  swimming  in  the  hollow  of  the  night. 

I  saw  Jerusalem  all  wrapped  in  cloud, 

Stretched  like  a  dead  thing  folded  in  a  shroud. 

Once  in  the  pauses  of  our  whispered  talk 
I  heard  a  something  on  the  garden  walk. 

Perhaps  it  was  a  crisp  leaf  lightly  stirred — 

Perhaps  the  dream-note  of  a  waking  bird. 

Then  suddenly  an  angel  burning  white 

Came  down  with  earthquake  in  the  breaking  light, 

And  rolled  the  great  stone  from  the  Sepulcher, 

Mixing  the  morning  with  a  scent  of  myrrh. 

And  lo,  the  Dead  had  risen  with  the  day : 

The  Man  of  Mystery  had  gone  His  way ! 

Years  have  I  wandered,  carrying  my  shame; 

Now  let  the  Tooth  of  Time  eat  out  my  name. 

For  we,  who  all  the  Wonder  might  have  told, 

Kept  silence,  for  our  mouths  were  stopped  with  gold. 


350  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

CALVARY 

Edwin  Arlington  Robinson 

Friendless  and  faint,  with  martyred  steps  and  slow, 
Faint  for  the  flesh,  but  for  the  spirit  free 
Stung  by  the  mob  that  came  to  see  the  show, 

The  Master  toiled  along  to  Calvary; 

We  jibed  him,  as  he  went,  with  houndish  glee, 

Till  his  dimmed  eyes  for  us  did  overflow; 

We  cursed  his  vengeless  hands  thrice  wretchedly, — 
And  this  was  nineteen  hundred  years  ago. 

But  after  nineteen  hundred  years  the  shame 
Still  clings,  and  we  have  not  made  good  the  loss 
That  outraged  faith  has  entered  in  his  name. 

Ah,  when  shall  come  love’s  courage  to  be  strong ! 
Tell  me,  O  Lord — tell  me,  O  Lord,  how  long 
Are  we  to  keep  Christ  writhing  on  the  cross ! 


TO  A  CONTEMPORARY  BUNKSHOOTER 

Carl  Sandburg 

You  come  along  .  .  .  tearing  your  shirt  .  .  .  yelling 

about  Jesus. 

Where  do  you  get  that  stuff? 

What  do  you  know  about  Jesus? 

Jesus  had  a  way  of  talking  soft  and  outside  of  a  few  bankers 
and  higher-ups  among  the  con  men  of  Jerusalem  every¬ 
body  liked  to  have  this  Jesus  around  because  he  never 
made  any  fake  passes  and  everything  he  said  went  and 
he  helped  the  sick  and  gave  the  people  hope. 

You  come  along  squirting  words  at  us,  shaking  your  fist  and 
calling  us  all  damn  fools  so  fierce  the  froth  slobbers  over 
your  lips  .  .  .  always  blabbing  we’re  all  going  to  hell 
straight  off  and  you  know  all  about  it. 


GOD  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN 


35i 


I’ve  read  Jesus’  words.  I  know  what  he  said.  You  don’t  throw 
any  scare  into  me.  I’ve  got  your  number.  I  know  how 
much  you  know  about  Jesus. 

He  never  came  near  clean  people  or  dirty  people  but  they  felt 
cleaner  because  he  came  along.  It  was  you  crowd  of 
bankers  and  business  men  and  lawyers  who  hired  the 
sluggers  and  murderers  who  put  Jesus  out  of  the  running. 

I  say  the  same  bunch  backing  you  nailed  the  nails  into  the 
hands  of  this  Jesus  of  Nazareth.  He  had  lined  up 
against  him  the  same  crooks  and  strong-arm  men  now 
lined  up  with  you  paying  your  way. 

This  Jesus  was  good  to  look  at,  smelled  good,  listened  good. 
He  threw  out  something  fresh  and  beautiful  from  the 
skin  of  his  body  and  the  touch  of  his  hands  wherever  he 
passed  along. 

Tou  slimy  bunkshooter,  you  put  a  smut  on  every  human  blossom 
in  reach  of  your  rotten  breath  belching  about  hell-fire  and 
hiccupping  about  this  Man  who  lived  a  clean  life  in 
Galilee. 

When  are  you  going  to  quit  making  the  carpenters  build  emer¬ 
gency  hospitals  for  women  and  girls  driven  crazy  with 
wrecked  nerves  from  your  gibberish  about  Jesus — I  put 
it  to  you  again :  where  do  you  get  that  stufif ;  what  do 
you  know  about  Jesus? 

Go  ahead  and  bust  all  the  chairs  you  want 'to.  Smash  a  whole 
wagon  load  of  furniture  at  every  performance.  Turn 
sixty  somersaults  and  stand  on  your  nutty  head.  If  it 
wasn’t  for  the  way  you  scare  the  women  and  kids  I’d  feel 
sorry  for  you  and  pass  the  hat. 

I  like  to  watch  a  good  four-flusher  work,  but  not  when  he  starts 
people  puking  and  calling  for  the  doctors. 

I  like  a  man  that’s  got  nerve  and  can  pull  off  a  great  original 
performance,  but  you — you’re  only  a  bug-house  peddler 
of  second-hand  gospel — you’re  only  shoving  out  a  phoney 
imitation  of  the  goods  this  Jesus  wanted  free  as  air  and 
sunlight. 


352  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

You  tell  people  living  in  shanties  Jesus  is  going  to  fix  it  up  all 
right  with  them  by  giving  them  mansions  in  the  skies 
after  they’re  dead  and  the  worms  have  eaten  ’em. 

You  tell  $6  a  week  department  store  girls  all  they  need  is 
Jesus;  you  take  a  steel  trust  wop,  dead  without  having 
lived,  gray  and  shrunken  at  forty  years  of  age,  and  you 
tell  him  to  look  at  Jesus  on  the  cross  and  he’ll  be  all 
right. 

You  tell  poor  people  they  don’t  need  any  more  money  on  pay 
day  and  even  if  it’s  fierce  to  be  out  of  a  job,  Jesus’ll  fix 
that  up  all  right,  all  right — all  they  gotta  do  is  take 
Jesus  the  way  you  say. 

I’m  telling  you  Jesus  wouldn’t  stand  for  the  stuff  you’re  handing 
out.  Jesus  played  it  different.  The  bankers  and  lawyers 
of  Jerusalem  got  their  sluggers  and  murderers  to  go 
after  Jesus  just  because  Jesus  wouldn’t  play  their  game. 
He  didn’t  sit  in  with  the  big  thieves. 

I  don’t  want  a  lot  of  gab  from  a  bunkshooter  in  my  religion. 

I  won’t  take  my  religion  from  any  man  who  never  works  except 
with  his  mouth  and  never  cherishes  any  memory  except 
the  face  of  the  woman  on  the  American  silver  dollar. 

I  ask  you  to  come  through  and  show  me  where  you’re  pouring 
out  the  blood  of  your  life. 

I’ve  been  to  this  suburb  of  Jerusalem  they  call  Golgotha,  where 
they  nailed  Him,  and  I  know  if  the  story  is  straight  it 
was  real  blood  ran  from  His  Hands  and  the  nail-holes, 
and  it  was  real  blood  spurted  in  red  drops  where  the 
spear  of  the  Roman  soldier  rammed  in  between  the  ribs  of 
this  Jesus  of  Nazareth. 


THE  REDEEMER 
Siegfried  Sassoon 

DARKNESS:  the  rain  sluiced  down;  the  mire  was  deep; 
It  was  past  twelve  on  a  mid-winter  night, 

When  peaceful  folk  in  beds  lay  snug  asleep ; 

There,  with  much  work  to  do  before  the  light, 


GOD  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN 


353 


We  lugged  our  clay-sucked  boots  as  best  we  might 
Along  the  trench ;  sometimes  a  bullet  sang, 

And  droning  shells  burst  with  a  hollow  bang; 

We  were  soaked,  chilled  and  wretched,  every  one. 
Darkness :  the  distant  wink  of  a  huge  gun. 

I  turned  in  the  black  ditch,  loathing  the  storm; 

A  rocket  fizzed,  and  burned  with  blanching  flare, 
And  lit  the  face  of  what  had  been  a  form 
Foundering  in  the  mirk.  Fie  stood  before  me  there: 
I  say  that  he  was  Christ;  stiff  in  the  glare, 

And  leaning  forward  from  his  burdening  task, 

Both  arms  supporting  it;  his  eyes  on  mine 
Stared  from  the  woful  head  that  seemed  a  mask 
Of  mortal  pain  in  Hell’s  unholy  shrine. 

No  thorny  crown,  only  a  woolen  cap 

He  wore — an  English  soldier,  white  and  strong, 

Who  loved  his  time  like  any  simple  chap, 

Good  days  of  work  and  sport  and  homely  song; 
Now  he  has  learned  that  nights  are  very  long, 

And  dawn  a  watching  of  the  windowed  sky. 

But  to  the  end,  unjudging,  he’ll  endure 
Horror  and  pain,  not  uncontent  to  die 
That  Lancaster  on  Lune  may  stand  secure. 

He  faced  me,  reeling  in  his  weariness, 

Shouldering  his  load  of  planks,  so  hard  to  bear. 

I  say  that  he  was  Christ,  who  wrought  to  bless 
All  groping  things  with  freedom  bright  as  air, 

And  with  His  mercy  washed  and  made  them  fair. 
Then  the  flame  sank,  and  all  grew  black  as  pitch, 
While  we  began  to  struggle  along  in  the  ditch ; 

And  someone  flung  his  burden  in  the  muck, 
Mumbling:  “O  Christ  Almighty,  now  I’m  stuck.” 


354  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


THE  GREAT  MAN 
Eunice  Tietjens 

I  cannot  always  feel  His  greatness, 

Sometimes  He  walks  beside  me,  step  by  step. 

And  paces  slowly  in  the  ways — 

The  simple,  wingless  ways 

That  my  thoughts  tread.  He  gossips  with  me  then, 

And  finds  it  good; 

Not  as  an  eagle  might,  Llis  great  wings  folded,  be  content, 
To  walk  a  little,  knowing  is  His  choice. 

But  as  a  simple  man, 

And  I  forget. 

Then  suddenly  a  call  floats  down 
From  the  clear  airy  spaces, 

The  great  keen,  lonely  heights  of  being. 

And  He  who  was  my  comrade  hears  the  call 
And  rises  from  my  side,  and  soars, 

Deep-chanting,  to  the  heights. 

Then  I  remember. 

And  my  upward  gaze  goes  with  him,  and  I  see 

Far  off  against  the  sky 

The  glint  of  golden  sunlight  on  His  wings. 

A  LOST  WORD  OF  JESUS 

Henry  van  Dyke 

Hear  the  word  that  Jesus  spake 
Eighteen  centuries  ago, 

Where  the  crimson  lilies  blow 
Round  the  blue  Tiberian  lake: 

There  the  bread  of  Life  he  brake, 

Through  the  fields  of  harvest  walking 
With  his  lowly  comrades,  talking 
Of  the  secret  thoughts  that  feed 


GOD  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN 


355 


Weary  hearts  in  time  of  need. 

Art  thou  hungry?  Come  and  take; 

Hear  the  word  that  Jesus  spake. 

’Tis  tne  sacrament  of  labor;  meat  and  drink  divinely  blest, 
Friendship’s  food,  and  sweet  refreshment;  strength  and  courage, 
joy  and  rest. 

Yet  this  word  the  Master  said, 

Long  ago  and  far  away, 

Silent  and  forgotten  lay 
Buried  with  the  silent  dead, — - 
Where  the  sands  of  Egypt  spread, 

Sea-like,  tawny  billows  heaping 
Over  ancient  cities  sleeping; 

While  the  river  Nile  between 
Rolls  its  summer  flood  of  green, 

Rolls  its  autumn  flood  of  red, — 

There  the  word  the  Master  said 
Written  on  a  frail  papyrus,  scorched  by  fire,  wrinkled,  torn, 
Hidden  in  God’s  hand,  was  waiting  for  its  resurrection  morn. 

Hear  the  Master’s  risen  word ! 

Delving  spades  have  set  it  free, — 

Wake !  the  world  has  need  of  thee, — 

Rise,  and  let  thy  voice  be  heard, 

Like  a  fountain  disinterred. 

Upward-springing,  singing,  sparkling; 

Through  the  doubtful  shadows  darkling; 

Till  the  clouds  of  pain  and  rage 
Brooding,  o’er  the  toiling  age, 

As  with  rifts  of  light  are  stirred 
By  the  music  of  the  word ; 

Gospel  for  the  heavy-laden,  answer  to  the  labourer’s  cry ; 
“Raise  the  stone  and  thou  shalt  find  me;  cleave  the  wood,  and 
there  am  I.” 


356  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


C.  REVEALED  IN  THE  GUIDANCE  OF  INDIVIDUAL  LIVES 


A  GOOD  BISHOP 

Anonymous,  ioth  Century  A.D.  (Old  High  German) 

Translated  by  Wm.  Taylor 

Before  St.  Anno 
Six  were  sainted 
Of  our  holy  bishops. 

Like  the  seven  stars 

They  shall  shine  from  heaven. 

Purer  and  brighter 

Is  the  light  of  Anno 

Than  a  hyacinth  set  in  a  gold  ring ! 

This  darling  man 

We  will  have  for  a  pattern; 

And  those  that  would  grow 

In  virtue  and  trustiness 

Shall  dress  by  him  as  at  a  mirror. 

As  the  sun  in  the  air 
Between  earth  and  heaven 
Glitters  to  both — 

So  went  Bishop  Anno 
Between  God  and  man. 

Such  was  his  virtue  in  the  palace 
That  the  emperor  obeyed  him; 

He  behaved  with  honour  to  both  sides 
And  was  counted  among  the  first  barons. 

In  his  gestures  at  worship 
He  was  awful  as  an  angel 
Many  a  man  knew  his  goodness. 

Hear  what  were  his  manners — 


GOD  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN 


357 


His  words  were  frank  and  open; 

He  spoke  truth  fearing  no  man; 

Like  a  lamb  he  sat  among  princes, 

Like  a  lamb  he  walked  among  the  people: 
To  the  unruly  he  was  sharp; 

To  the  gentle  he  was  mild: 

Widows  and  orphans  praised  him  always. 

Preaching  and  praying 
No  one  could  do  better. 

Happy  was  Cologne 

To  be  worthy  of  such  a  bishop ! 


RABBI  BEN  EZRA 

Robert  Browning 

Grow  old  along  with  me ! 

The  best  is  yet  to  be, 

The  last  of  life,  for  which  the  first  was  made : 

Our  times  are  in  His  hand 
Who  saith  “A  whole  I  planned, 

Youth  shows  but  half;  trust  God:  see  all,  nor  be  afraid!” 

Not  that,  amassing  flowers, 

Youth  sighed,  “Which  rose  make  ours, 

Which  lily  leave  and  then  as  best  recall !” 

Not  that,  admiring  stars, 

It  yearned  “Nor  Jove,  nor  Mars; 

Mine  be  some  figured  flame  which  blends,  transcends  them  all !” 

Not  for  such  hopes  and  fears 
Annulling  youth’s  brief  years, 

Do  I  remonstrate :  folly  wide  the  mark ! 

Rather  I  prize  the  doubt 
Low  kinds  exist  without, 

Finished  and  finite  clods,  untroubled  by  a  spark. 


358  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

Poor  vaunt  of  life  indeed, 

Were  man  but  formed  to  feed 

On  joy,  to  solely  seek  and  find  and  feast: 

Such  feasting  ended,  then 
As  sure  an  end  to  men; 

Irks  care  the  crop-full  bird?  Frets  doubt  the  maw-crammed 
beast  ? 

Rejoice  we  are  allied 

To  That  which  doth  provide 

And  not  partake,  effect  and  not  receive ! 

A  spark  disturbs  our  clod; 

Nearer  we  hold  of  God 

Who  gives,  than  of  Plis  tribes  that  take,  I  must  believe. 

Then,  welcome  each  rebuff 

That  turns  earth’s  smoothness  rough, 

Each  sting  that  bids  nor  sit  nor  stand  but  go ! 

Be  our  joys  three-parts  pain! 

Strive,  and  hold  cheap  the  strain; 

Learn,  nor  account  the  pang ;  dare,  never  grudge  the  throe ! 

For  thence, — a  paradox 

Which  comforts  while  it  mocks, — 

Shall  life  succeed  in  that  it  seems  to  fail: 

What  I  aspired  to  be, 

And  was  not,  comforts  me : 

A  brute  I  might  have  been,  but  would  not  sink  i’  the  scale. 

What  is  he  but  a  brute 
Whose  flesh  has  soul  to  suit, 

Whose  spirit  works  lest  arms  and  legs  want  play? 

To  man,  propose  this  test — 

Thy  body  at  its  best, 

How  far  can  that  project  thy  soul  on  its  lone  way? 

Yet  gifts  should  prove  their  use: 

I  own  the  Past  profuse 

Of  power  each  side,  perfection  every  turn: 

Eyes,  ears  took  in  their  dole, 


GOD  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN 


359 


Brain  treasured  up  the  whole; 

Should  not  the  heart  beat  once  “How  good  to  live  and  learn?” 

Not  once  beat  “Praise  be  Thine! 

I  see  the  whole  design, 

I,  who  saw  power,  see  now  love  perfect  too : 

Perfect  I  call  Thy  plan : 

Thanks  that  I  was  a  man ! 

Maker,  remake,  complete, — I  trust  what  Thou  shalt  do !” 

For  pleasant  is  this  flesh; 

Our  soul,  in  its  rose-mesh 

Pulled  ever  to  the  earth,  still  yearns  for  rest : 

Would  we  some  prize  might  hold 
To  match  those  manifold 

Possessions  of  the  brute, — gain  most,  as  we  did  best ! 

Let  us  not  always  say, 

“Spite  of  this  flesh  to-day 

I  strove,  made  head,  gained  ground  upon  the  whole !” 

As  the  bird  wings  and  sings, 

Let  us  cry,  “All  good  things 

Are  ours,  nor  soul  helps  flesh  more,  now,  than  flesh  helps 
soul !” 

Therefore  I  summon  age 
To  grant  youth’s  heritage, 

Life’s  struggle  having  so  far  reached  its  term: 

Thence  shall  I  pass,  approved 
A  man,  for  aye  removed 

From  the  developed  brute;  a  God  tho’  in  the  germ. 

And  I  shall  thereupon 

Take  rest,  ere  I  be  gone 

Once  more  on  my  adventure  brave  and  new: 

Fearless  and  unperplexed, 

When  I  wage  battle  next, 

What  weapons  to  select,  what  armour  to  indue. 

Youth  ended,  I  shall  try 
My  gain  or  loss  thereby; 


36o  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

Leave  the  fire  ashes,  what  survives  is  gold: 

And  I  shall  weigh  the  same, 

Give  life  its  praise  or  blame : 

Young,  all  lay  in  dispute;  I  shall  know,  being  old. 

For  note,  when  evening  shuts, 

A  certain  moment  cuts 

The  deed  off,  calls  the  glory  from  the  gray: 

A  whisper  from  the  west 
Shoots — “Add  this  to  the  rest, 

Take  it  and  try  its  worth:  here  dies  another  day.” 

So,  still  within  this  life, 

Tho’  lifted  o’er  its  strife, 

Let  me  discern,  compare,  pronounce  at  last, 

“This  rage  was  right  i’  the  main, 

That  acquiescence  vain: 

The  Future  I  may  face  now  I  have  proved  the  Past.” 

For  more  is  not  reserved 

To  man,  with  soul  just  nerved 

To  act  to-morrow  what  he  learns  to-day : 

Here,  work  enough  to  watch 
The  Master  work,  and  catch 

Hints  of  the  proper  craft,  tricks  of  the  tool’s  true  play. 

As  it  was  better,  youth 
Should  strive,  thro’  acts  uncouth, 

Toward  making,  than  repose  on  aught  found  made: 

So,  better,  age,  exempt 

From  strife,  should  know,  than  tempt 

Further.  Thou  waitedst  age :  wait  death,  nor  be  afraid ! 

Enough  now,  if  the  Right 
And  Good  and  Infinite 

Be  named  here,  as  thou  callest  thy  hand  thine  own, 

With  knowledge  absolute, 

Subject  to  no  dispute 

From  fools  that  crowded  youth,  nor  let  thee  feel  alone. 


GOD  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN 


361 


Be  there,  for  once  and  all, 

Severed  great  minds  from  small, 

Announced  to  each  his  station  in  the  Past ! 

Was  I,  the  world  arraigned, 

Were  they,  my  soul  disdained, 

Right?  Let  age  speak  the  truth  and  give  us  peace  at  last! 

Now,  who  shall  arbitrate? 

Ten  men  love  what  I  hate, 

Shun  what  I  follow,  slight  what  I  receive; 

Ten,  who  in  ears  and  eyes 
Match  me :  we  all  surmise, 

They  this  thing,  and  I  that :  whom  shall  my  soul  believe  ? 

Not  on  the  vulgar  mass 

Called  “work,”  must  sentence  pass, 

Things  done,  that  took  the  eye  and  had  the  price; 

O’er  which,  from  level  stand, 

The  low  world  laid  its  hand, 

Found  straightway  to  its  mind,  could  value  in  a  trice: 

But  all,  the  world’s  coarse  thumb 
And  finger  failed  to  plumb, 

So  passed  in  making  up  the  main  account: 

All  instincts  immature, 

All  purposes  unsure, 

That  weighed  not  as  his  work,  yet  swelled  the  man’s  amount: 

Thoughts  hardly  tb  be  packed 
Into  a  narrow  act, 

Fancies  that  broke  thro’  language  and  escaped: 

All  I  could  never  be, 

All,  men  ignored  in  me, 

This,  I  was  worth  to  God,  whose  wheel  the  pitcher  shaped. 

Ay,  note  that  Potter’s  wheel, 

That  metaphor !  and  feel 

Why  time  spins  fast,  why  passive  lies  our  clay, — 

Thou,  to  whom  fools  propound, 

When  the  wine  makes  its  round, 

“Since  life  fleets,  all  is  change;  the  Past  gone,  seize  to-day!” 


362  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

Fool !  All  that  is,  at  all, 

Lasts  ever,  past  recall; 

Earth  changes,  but  thy  soul  and  God  stand  sure : 

What  entered  into  thee, 

That  was,  is,  and  shall  be: 

Time’s  wheel  runs  back  or  stops:  Potter  and  clay  endure. 

He  fixed  thee  mid  this  dance 
Of  plastic  circumstance, 

This  Present,  thou  forsooth,  wouldst  fain  arrest: 

Machinery  just  meant 
To  give  thy  soul  its  bent, 

Try  thee  and  turn  thee  forth,  sufficiently  impressed. 

What  tho’  the  earlier  grooves 
Which  ran  the  laughing  loves 
Around  thy  base,  no  longer  pause  and  press? 

What  tho’  about  thy  rim, 

Skull-things  in  order  grim 

Grow  out,  in  graver  mood,  obey  the  sterner  stress? 

Look  not  thou  down  but  up ! 

To  uses  of  a  cup 

The  festal  board,  lamp’s  flash  and  trumpet’s  peal, 

The  new  wine’s  foaming  flow, 

The  Master’s  lips  a-glow ! 

Thou,  heaven’s  consummate  cup,  what  needst  thou  with  earth’ 
wheel  ? 

But  I  need,  now  as  then, 

Thee,  God,  who  mouldest  men ! 

And  since,  not  even  while  the  whirl  was  worst, 

Did  I, — to  the  wheel  of  life 
With  shapes  and  colours  rife, 

Bound  dizzily, — mistake  my  end,  to  slake  Thy  thirst: 

So  take  and  use  thy  work. 

Amend  what  flaws  may  lurk 

What  strain  o’  the  stuff,  what  workings  hast  the  aim! 

My  times  be  in  Thy  hand ! 

Perfect  the  cup  as  planned ! 

Let  age  approve  of  youth  and  death  complete  the  same! 


GOD  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN 


363 


THE  GOOD  PARSON 
Chaucer 

Translated  by  H.  C.  Leonard 

The  parson  of  a  country  town  was  he 
Who  knew  the  straits  of  humble  poverty; 

But  rich  he  was  in  holy  thought  and  work, 

Nor  less  in  learning  as  became  a  clerk. 

The  word  of  Christ  most  truly  did  he  preach, 

And  his  parishioners  devoutly  teach. 

Benign  was  he,  in  labors  diligent, 

And  in  adversity  was  still  content — 

As  proved  full  oft.  To  all  his  flock  a  friend, 
Averse  was  he  to  ban  or  to  contend 
When  tithes  were  due.  Much  rather  was  he  fond, 
Unto  his  poor  parishioners  around, 

Of  his  own  substance  and  his  dues  to  give, 
Content  on  little,  for  himself  to  live. 

Wide  was  his  parish,  scattered  far  asunder, 

Yet  none  did  he  neglect,  in  rain,  or  thunder. 
Sorrow  and  sickness  won  his  kindly  care ; 

With  staff  in  hand  he  travelled  everywhere. 

This  good  example  to  his  sheep  he  brought 
That  first  he  wrought,  and  afterwards  he  taught. 
This  parable  he  joined  the  Word  unto — 

That,  “If  gold  rust,  what  shall  iron  do?” 

For  if  a  priest  be  foul  in  whom  we  trust, 

No  wonder  if  a  common  man  should  rust ! 

And  shame  it  were,  in  those  the  flock  who  keep 
For  shepherds  to  be  foul  yet  clean  the  sheep. 
Well  ought  a  priest  example  fair  to  give, 

By  his  own  cleanness,  how  his  sheep  should  live. 
He  did  not  put  his  benefice  to  hire, 

And  leave  his  sheep  encumbered  in  the  mire, 
Then  haste  to  St.  Pauls  in  London  Town, 

To  seek  a  chantry  where  to  settle  down, 

And  there  at  least  to  sing  the  daily  mass, 


364  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

Or  with  a  brotherhood  his  time  to  pass. 

He  dwelt  at  home,  with  watchful  care  to  keep 
From  prowling  wolves  his  well-protected  sheep 
Though  holy  in  himself  and  virtuous 
He  still  to  sinful  men  was  piteous, 

Not  sparing  of  his  speech,  in  vain  conceit, 

But  in  his  teaching  kindly  and  discreet. 

To  draw  his  flock  to  heaven  with  noble  art, 

By  good  example,  was  his  holy  art. 

Nor  less  did  he  rebuke  the  obstinate, 

Whether  they  were  of  high  or  low  estate. 

For  pomp  and  worldly  show  he  did  not  care, 

No  morbid  conscience  made  his  rule  severe. 

The  lore  of  Christ  and  his  apostles  twelve 
He  taught,  but  first  he  followed  it  himself. 


HYMN  TO  ST.  TERESA 

Richard  Crashaw 

Love,  thou  art  Absolute  sole  lord 
Of  Life  and  Death.  To  prove  the  word, 

We’ll  now  appeal  to  none  of  all 

Those  thy  old  Soldiers,  great  and  tall 

Ripe  Men  of  Martyrdom,  that  could  reach  down 

With  strong  arms,  their  triumphant  crown; 

Such  as  could  with  lusty  breath 

Speak  loud  into  the  face  of  death 

Their  great  Lord’s  glorious  name,  to  none 

Of  those  whose  spatious  Bosomes  spread  a  throne 

For  Love  at  large  to  fill,  spare  blood  and  sweat; 

And  take  him  to  a  private  seat, 

Making  his  mansion  in  the  mild 
And  milky  soul  of  a  soft  child. 

Scarse  had  she  learn’d  to  lisp  the  name 
Of  Martyr;  yet  she  thinks  it  shame 
Life  should  so  long  play  with  that  breath 
Which  spent  can  buy  so  brave  a  death. 


GOD  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN 


365 


She  never  undertook  to  know 

What  death  with  love  should  have  to  doe; 

Nor  has  she  e’er  yet  understood 

Why  to  show  love,  she  should  shed  blood 

Yet  though  she  cannot  tell  you  why, 

She  can  Love,  and  she  can  DY. 

Scarse  has  she  Blood  enough  to  make 
A  guilty  sword  blush  for  her  sake; 

Yet  has  she  a  Heart  dares  hope  to  prove 
How  much  less  strong  is  Death  than  Love. 

Be  love  but  there;  let  six  poor  yeares 
Be  posed  with  the  maturest  Feares 
Man  trembles  at,  you  straight  shall  find 
Love  knows  no  nonage,  nor  the  Mind. 

’Tis  Love,  not  yeares  or  Limbs  that  can 
Make  the  Martyr,  or  the  man. 

Love  touch’t  her  Heart,  and  lo  it  beates 
High,  and  burnes  with  such  brave  heates; 

Such  thirstes  to  dy,  as  dares  drink  up, 

A  thousand  cold  deaths  in  one  cup. 

Good  reason.  For  she  breathes  all  fire. 

Her  (weake)  brest  heaves  with  strong  desire 
Of  what  she  may  with  fruitless  wishes 
Seek  for  amongst  her  Mother’s  kisses, 

Since  ’tis  not  to  be  had  at  home 
She’ll  travail  to  a  Martyrdom. 

No  home  for  hers  confesses  she 
But  where  she  may  a  Martyr  be. 

She’ll  to  the  Moores ;  and  trade  with  them, 
For  this  unvalued  Diadem. 

She’ll  offer  them  here  dearest  Breath, 

With  Christ’s  Name  in’t,  in  change  for  death. 
She’ll  bargain  with  them;  and  will  give 
Them  God;  teach  them  how  to  live 
In  him:  or,  if  this  they  deny, 

For  him  she’ll  teach  them  how  to  DY. 

So  shall  she  leave  amongst  them  sown 
Her  Lord’s  Blood;  or  at  least  her  own. 

Farewell  then,  all  the  world!  Adieu. 

Teresa  is  no  more  for  you. 


366  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

Farewell,  all  pleasures,  sports  and  joyes, 

(Never  till  now  esteemed  toyes,) 

(Farewell  what  ever  deare  may  be,) 

Mother’s  armes  or  Father’s  knee. 

Farewell  house,  and  farewell  home! 

She’s  for  the  Moores  and  Martyrdom. 

Sweet,  not  so  fast !  lo  thy  fair  Spouse 
Whom  thou  seekst  with  so  swift  vowes. 

Calls  thee  back,  and  bids  thee  come 
T’embrace  a  milder  Martyrdom. 

Blest  powres  forbid,  Thy  tender  life; 

Should  bleed  upon  a  barbarous  knife; 

Or  some  base  hand  have  power  to  race 
Thy  Brest’s  chaste  cabinet,  and  uncase 
A  soul  kept  there  so  sweet,  O  no; 

Wise  heaven  will  never  have  it  so. 

Thou  art  love’s  victime ;  and  must  dy 
A  death  more  mystical  and  high. 

Into  love’s  armes  thou  shalt  let  fall 
A  still — surviving  funerall. 

His  is  the  Dart  must  make  the  Death 
Whose  stroke  shall  taste  thy  hallow’d  breath; 

A  Dart  thrice  dipt  in  that  rich  flame 
Which  writes  thy  spouse’s  radiant  Name 
Upon  the  roof  of  Heav’n;  where  ay 
It  shines,  and  with  a  sovereign  ray 
Beates  bright  upon  the  burning  faces 
Of  soules  which  in  that  names  sweet  graces 
Find  everlasting  smiles.  So  rare, 

So  spirituall,  pure,  and  fair 
Must  be  th’  immortall  instrument 
Upon  whose  choice  point  shall  be  sent 
A  life  so  lov’d;  and  that  there  be 
Fit  executioners  for  Thee, 

The  fairest  and  first-born  sons  of  fire, 

Blest  Seraphim,  shall  leave  their  quire 
And  turn  love’s  souldiers,  upon  Thee 
To  exercise  their  archerie. 

O  how  oft  shalt  thou  complain 
Of  a  sweet  and  subtle  Pain. 


GOD  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN 

Of  intolerable  Joyes; 

Of  a  Death,  in  which  who  dyes 
Loves  his  death  and  dyes  again. 

And  would  forever  be  so  slain. 

And  lives,  and  dyes;  and  knowes  not  why 
To  live,  But  that  he  thus  may  never  leave  to  DY. 

How  kindly  will  thy  gentle  Heart 
Kisse  the  sweetly-killing  dart ! 

And  close  in  his  embraces  keep 
Those  delicious  Wounds,  that  weep 
Balsom  to  heal  themselves  with.  Thus 
When  These  thy  Deaths,  so  numerous, 

Shall  all  at  last  dy  into  one, 

And  melt  thy  soul’s  sweet  mansion; 

Like  a  soft  lump  of  incense,  hasted 
By  too  hot  a  fire,  and  wasted 
Into  perfuming  clouds,  so  fast 
Shalt  thou  exhale  to  Heav’n  at  last 
In  a  resolving  Sigh,  and  then 
O  what?  Ask  not  the  Tongues  of  men. 

Angells  cannot  tell,  suffice, 

Thyselfe  shall  feel  thine  own  full  joyes 
And  hold  them  fast  forever  there 
So  soon  as  you  first  appear, 

The  Moon  of  maiden  stars,  thy  white 
Mistresse,  attended  by  such  bright 
Soules  as  thy  shining  self,  shall  come 
And  in  her  first  rankes  make  thee  room; 

Where  mongst  her  snowy  family 
Immortal  well-comes  wait  for  thee. 

O  what  delight,  when  revealed  Life  shall  stand 
And  teach  thy  lipps  heav’n  with  his  hand; 

On  which  thou  now  maist  to  thy  wishes 
Heap  up  thy  consecrated  kisses. 

What  joyes  shall  seize  thy  soul,  when  she 
Bending  her  blessed  eyes  on  thee 
(Those  second  smiles  of  Heav’n)  shall  dart 
Her  mild  rayes  through  thy  melting  heart ! 

Angels,  thy  old  friends,  there  shall  greet  thee 
Glad  at  their  own  home  now  to  meet  thee. 


368  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

All  thy  good  Workes  which  went  before 
And  waited  for  thee  at  the  door, 

Shall  own  thee  there ;  and  all  in  one 
Weave  a  constellation 

Of  Crowns,  with  which  the  King  thy  spouse 
Shall  bind  up  thy  triumphant  browes. 

All  thy  old  woes  shall  now  smile  on  thee 
And  thy  paines  sitt  bright  upon  thee 
All  thy  Sufferings  be  divine. 

Teares  shall  take  comfort,  and  turn  gemms 
And  wrongs  repent  to  Diadems. 

Ev’n  thy  Death  shall  live ;  and  new 
Dresse  the  soul  that  erst  they  slew. 

Thy  wounds  shall  blush  to  such  bright  scarres 
As  keep  account  of  the  Lamb’s  warres. 

Those  rare  Workes  where  thou  shalt  leave  writt, 
Love’s  noble  history,  with  witt 
Taught  thee  by  none  but  him,  while  here 
They  feed  our  soules,  shall  cloth  Thine  there. 

Each  heav’nly  word  by  whose  hid  flame 
Our  hard  Hearts  shall  strike  fire,  the  same 
Shall  flourish  on  thy  browes,  and  be 
Both  fire  to  us  and  flame  to  thee; 

Whose  light  shall  live  bright  in  thy  Face 
By  glory,  in  our  hearts  by  grace. 

Thou  shalt  look  round  about,  and  see 
Thousands  of  crowned  Soules  throng  to  be 
Themselves  thy  crown.  Sons  of  thy  vowes 
The  virgin-births  with  which  thy  sovereign  spouse 
Made  fruitful  thy  fair  soul,  goe  now 
And  with  them  all  about  thee  bow 
To  Him,  put  on  (He’ll  say)  put  on 
(My  rosy  love)  That  thy  rich  zone 
Sparkling  with  the  sacred  flames 
Of  thousand  soules,  whose  happy  names 
Heaven  keep  upon  thy  score.  (Thy  bright 
Life  brought  them  first  to  kisse  the  light 
That  kindled  them  to  starrs.)  And  so 
Thou  with  the  Lamb,  thy  lord,  shalt  goe; 

And  whereso’er  he  setts  his  white 


GOD  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN 


369 


Stepps,  walk  with  Him  those  wayes  of  light 
Which  who  in  death  would  live  to  see, 
Must  learn  in  life  to  dy  like  thee. 


THE  SMOOTH  DIVINE 
Timothy  Dwight 

There  smiled  the  Smooth  Divine,  unused  to  wound 
The  sinner’s  heart  with  hell’s  alarming  sound. 

No  terrors  on  his  gentle  tongue  attend; 

No  grating  truths  the  nicest  ear  offend. 

That  strange  new  birth,  that  methodistic  grace, 

Nor  in  his  heart  nor  sermons  found  a  place. 

Plato’s  fine  tales  he  clumsily  retold, 

Trite,  fireside,  moral  see-saws,  dull  as  old, — 

His  Christ  and  Bible  placed  at  good  remove, 

Guilt  hell-deserving,  and  forgiving  love. 

’Twas  best,  he  said,  mankind  should  cease  to  sin: 
Good  fame  required  it ;  so  did  peace  within. 

Their  honors,  well  he  knew,  would  ne’er  be  driven; 
But  hoped  they  still  would  please  to  go  to  heaven. 

Each  week  he  paid  his  visitation  dues; 

Coaxed,  jested,  laughed;  rehearsed  the  private  news; 
Smoked  with  each  goody,  thought  her  cheese  excelled; 
Her  pipe  he  lighted  and  her  baby  held. 

Or,  placed  in  some  great  town,  with  lacquered  shoes, 
Trim  wig,  and  trimmer  gown,  and  glistening  hose, 

He  bowed,  talked  politics,  learned  manners  mild, 

Most  meekly  questioned,  and  most  smoothly  smiled; 

At  rich  men’s  jests  laughed  loud,  their  stories  praised, 
Their  wives’  new  patterns  gazed,  and  gazed,  and  gazed; 
Most  daintily  on  pampered  turkeys  dined, 

Nor  shrunk  with  fasting,  nor  with  study  pined; 

Yet  from  their  churches  saw  his  brethren  driven, 

Who  thundered  truth  and  spoke  the  voice  of  heaven. 
Chilled  trembling  guilt  in  Satan’s  headlong  path, 
Charmed  the  feet  back,  and  roused  the  ear  of  death. 
‘'Let  fools,”  he  cried,  “slave  on,  while  prudent  I 
Snug  in  my  nest  shall  live  and  snug  shall  die.” 


THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


THE  HIGHWAY 
William  Channing  Gannett 

When  the  night  is  still  and  far, 

Watcher  from  the  shadowed  deeps! 

When  the  morning  breaks  its  bar, 

Life  that  shines  and  wakes  and  leaps! 

When  old  Bible  verses  glow, 

Starring  all  the  deep  of  thought, 

Till  it  fills  with  quiet  dawn 

From  the  peace  our  years  have  brought,— 
Sun  within  both  skies,  we  see 
How  all  lights  lead  back  to  thee ! 

’Cross  the  field  of  daily  work 

Run  the  footpaths,  leading — where? 

Run  they  east  or  run  they  west, 

One  way  all  the  workers  fare. 

Every  awful  thing  of  earth, — 

Sin  and  pain  and  battle-noise ; 

Every  dear  thing, — baby’s  birth, 

Faces,  flowers,  or  lovers’  joys, — 

Is  a  wicket-gate,  where  we 
Join  the  great  highway  to  thee! 

Restless,  restless,  speed  we  on, — 

Whither  in  the  vast  unknown? 

Not  to  you  and  not  to  me 

Are  the  sealed  orders  shown : 

But  the  Hand  that  built  the  road, 

And  the  Light  that  leads  the  feet. 

And  this  inward  restlessness, 

Are  such  invitation  sweet, 

That  where  I  no  longer  see, 

Highway  still  must  lead  to  thee ! 


GOD  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN 


371 


THE  VILLAGE  PARSON 

Oliver  Goldsmith 

From  The  Deserted  Village 

Near  yonder  copse,  where  once  the  garden  smiled, 

And  still  where  many  a  garden-flower  grows  wild; 

There,  where  a  few  torn  shrubs  the  place  disclose, 

The  village  preacher’s  modest  mansion  rose. 

A  man  he  was  to  all  the  country  dear, 

And  passing  rich  with  forty  pounds  a  year ; 

Remote  from  towns  he  ran  his  godly  race, 

Nor  e’er  had  changed,  nor  wished  to  change,  his  place; 
Unskillful  he  to  fawn,  or  seek  for  power, 

By  doctrines  fashioned  to  the  varying  hour; 

Far  other  aims  his  heart  had  learned  to  prize, 

More  skilled  to  raise  the  wretched  than  to  rise. 

His  house  was  known  to  all  the  vagrant  train, 

He  chid  their  wanderings  but  relieved  their  pain; 

The  long-remembered  beggar  was  his  guest, 

Whose  beard  descending  swept  his  aged  breast ; 

The  ruined  spendthrift,  now  no  longer  proud, 

Claimed  kindred  there,  and  had  his  claims  allowed; 

The  broken  soldier,  kindly  bade  to  stay, 

Sat  by  the  fire  and  talked  the  night  away; 

Wept  o’er  his  wounds,  or,  tales  of  sorrow  done, 
Shouldered  his  crutch  and  showed  how  fields  were  won. 
Pleased  with  his  guests,  the  good  man  learned  to  glow, 
And  quite  forgot  their  vices  in  their  woe ; 

Careless  their  merits  or  their  faults  to  scan, 

His  pity  gave  ere  charity  began. 

Thus  to  relieve  the  wretched  was  his  pride, 

And  e’en  his  failings  leaned  to  Virtue’s  side; 

But  in  his  duty  prompt  at  every  call, 

He  watched  and  wept,  he  prayed  and  felt  for  all. 

And,  as  a  bird  each  fond  endearment  tries 
To  tempt  its  new-fledged  offspring  to  the  skies, 

He  tried  each  art,  reproved  each  dull  delay, 


372  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

Allured  to  brighter  worlds,  and  led  the  way. 

Beside  the  bed  where  parting  life  was  laid, 

And  sorrow,  guilt  and  pain  by  turns  dismayed, 

The  reverend  champion  stood.  At  his  control 
Despair  and  anguish  fled  the  struggling  soul ; 

Comfort  came  down  the  trembling  wretch  to  raise, 

And  his  last  faltering  accents  whispered  praise. 

At  church  with  meek  and  unaffected  grace, 

His  looks  adorned  the  venerable  place; 

Truth  from  his  lips  prevailed  with  double  sway, 

And  fools  who  came  to  scoff,  remained  to  pray. 

The  service  past,  around  the  pious  man, 

With  steady  zeal,  each  honest  rustic  ran ; 

Even  children  followed  with  endearing  wile, 

And  plucked  his  gown  to  share  the  good  man’s  smile. 

His  ready  smile  a  parent’s  warmth  expressed; 

Their  welfare  pleased  him  and  their  cares  distrest; 

To  them  his  heart,  his  love,  his  griefs  were  given, 

But  all  his  serious  thoughts  had  rest  in  heaven. 

As  some  tall  cliff  that  lifts  its  awful  form 
Swells  from  the  vale  and  midway  leaves  the  storm, 

Tho’  round  its  breast  the  rolling  clouds  are  spread. 
Eternal  sunshine  settles  on  its  head. 


From  ALL  FELLOWS 

Laurence  Housman 

Dear  love,  when  with  a  two-fold  mind 
I  pray  for  better  grace ; 

And  from  my  pit  of  torment  find 
Your  breath  upon  my  face, 

And  hear  you  without  thought  of  fear 
Bid  me  to  guard  you  well, 

And  guide  your  footsteps  to  win  clear — • 
When  my  feet  walk  in  hell ; 

I  wonder,  how  can  God  be  glad 
To  hear  men  praise  Him  so 


GOD  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN 


373 


Who  makes  His  piteous  earth  so  sad 
A  lot  to  undergo? 

Or  does  He  too  dip  Feet  in  fire 
And  share  the  thirster’s  thirst; 

And  listen  to  man’s  great  desire 
Holding  a  Heart  to  burst? 

IN  THE  GARDEN  OF  THE  LORD 

Helen  Keller 

The  word  of  God  came  unto  me, 

Sitting  alone  among  the  multitudes ; 

And  my  blind  eyes  were  touched  with  light. 

And  there  was  laid  upon  my  lips  a  flame  of  fire. 

I  laugh  and  shout  for  life  is  good, 

Though  my  feet  are  set  in  silent  ways. 

In  merry  mood  I  leave  the  crowd 
To  walk  in  my  garden.  Ever  as  I  walk 
I  gather  fruits  and  flowers  in  my  hands. 

And  with  joyful  heart  I  bless  the  sun 
That  kindles  all  the  place  with  radiant  life. 

I  run  with  playful  winds  that  blow  the  scent 

Of  rose  and  jessamine  in  eddying  whirls. 

At  last  I  come  where  tall  lilies  grow, 

Lifting  their  faces  like  white  saints  to  God. 
While  the  lilies  pray,  I  kneel  upon  the  ground; 

I  have  strayed  into  the  holy  temple  of  the  Lord. 


From  THE  VISION  OF  SIR  LAUNFAL 
James  Russell  Lowell 
“For  Christ’s  sweet  sake,  I  beg  an  alms”; 

Sir  Launfal  sees  only  the  grewsome  thing, 

The  leper,  lank  as  the  rain-blanched  bone, 

That  cowers  beside  him,  a  thing  as  lone 


374  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

And  white  as  the  ice-isles  of  the  Northern  seas 
In  the  desolate  horror  of  his  disease. 

And  Sir  Launfal  said.  “I  behold  in  thee 
The  image  of  Him  who  died  on  the  tree ; 

Thou  also  hast  had  thy  crown  of  thorns, 

Thou  also  hast  had  the  world’s  buffets  and  scorns, 

And  to  thy  life  were  not  denied 

The  wounds  in  the  hands  and  feet  and  side : 

Mild  Mary’s  Son,  acknowledge  me; 

Behold,  through  him,  I  give  to  thee !” 

Then  the  soul  of  the  leper  stood  up  in  his  eyes 
And  looked  at  Sir  Launfal,  and  straightway  he 
Remembered  in  what  a  haughtier  guise 
He  had  flung  an  alms  to  leprosie, 

When  he  girt  his  young  life  up  in  gilded  mail 
And  set  forth  in  search  of  the  Holy  Grail. 

The  heart  within  him  was  ashes  and  dust; 

He  parted  in  twain  his  single  crust, 

He  broke  the  ice  on  the  streamlet’s  brink, 

And  gave  the  leper  to  eat  and  drink, 

"Twas  a  mouldy  crust  of  coarse  brown  bread, 

’Twas  water  out  of  a  wooden  bowl, — 

Yet  with  fine  wheaten  bread  was  the  leper  fed, 

And  ’twas  red  wine  he  drank  with  his  thirsty  soul. 

As  Sir  Launfal  mused  with  a  downcast  face, 

A  light  shone  round  about  the  place; 

The  leper  no  longer  crouched  at  his  side 
But  stood  before  him  glorified, 

Shining  and  tall  and  fair  and  straight, 

As  the  pillar  that  stood  by  the  Beautiful  Gate, — 
Himself  the  Gate  whereby  men  can 
Enter  the  temple  of  God  in  Man. 

His  words  were  shed  softer  than  leaves  from  the  pine, 
And  they  fell  on  Sir  Launfal  as  snows  on  the  brine, 
Which  mingle  their  softness  and  quiet  in  one 
With  the  shaggy  unrest  they  float  down  upon: 


GOD  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN 


375 


And  the  voice  that  was  calmer  than  silence  said, 

“Lo,  it  is  I,  be  not  afraid! 

In  many  climes,  without  avail, 

Thou  has  spent  thy  life  for  the  Holy  Grail; 

Behold,  it  is  here, — this  cup  which  thou 
Didst  fill  at  the  streamlet  for  me  but  now; 

This  crust  is  my  body  broken  for  thee, 

This  water  His  blood  that  died  on  the  tree; 

The  Holy  Supper  is  kept,  indeed, 

In  whatso  we  share  with  another’s  need; 

Not  what  we  give,  but  what  we  share, 

For  the  gift  without  the  giver  is  bare; 

Who  gives  himself  with  his  alms  feeds  three, — 
Himself,  his  hungering  neighbor,  and  Me.” 

THE  MAN  WITH  THE  HOE 
Written  After  Seeing  Millet’s  World-Famous  Painting 

Edwin  Markham 

Bowed  by  the  weight  of  centuries,  he  leans 
Upon  his  hoe  and  gazes  on  the  ground, 

The  emptiness  of  ages  in  his  face, 

And  on  his  back  the  burden  of  the  world. 

Who  made  him  dead  to  rapture  and  despair, 

A  thing  that  grieves  not  and  that  never  hopes. 

Stolid  and  stunned,  a  brother  to  the  ox? 

Who  loosened  and  let  down  this  brutal  jaw? 

Whose  was  the  hand  that  slanted  back  this  brow? 

Whose  breath  blew  out  the  light  within  this  brain  ? 

Is  this  the  Thing  the  Lord  God  made  and  gave 
To  have  dominion  over  sea  and  land; 

To  trace  the  stars  and  search  the  heavens  for  power; 

To  feel  the  passion  of  Eternity? 

Is  this  the  Dream  He  dreamed  who  shaped  the  suns 
And  pillared  the  blue  firmament  with  light? 

Down  all  the  stretch  of  Hell  to  its  last  gulf, 

There  is  no  shape  more  terrible  than  this — 

More  tongued  with  censure  of  the  world’s  blind  greed — 


376  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

More  filled  with  signs  and  portents  for  the  soul — 

More  fraught  with  menace  to  the  universe. 

What  gulfs  between  him  and  the  seraphim ! 

Slave  of  the  wheel  of  labour,  what  to  him 
Are  Plato  and  the  swing  of  Pleiades? 

What  the  long  reaches  of  the  peaks  of  song, 

The  rift  of  dawn,  the  reddening  of  the  rose? 

Through  this  dread  shape  the  suffering  ages  look ; 
Time’s  tragedy  is  in  that  aching  stoop; 

Through  this  dread  shape  humanity  betrayed, 
Plundered,  profaned,  and  disinherited, 

Cries  protest  to  the  Judges  of  the  World, 

A  protest  that  is  also  prophesy. 

O  masters,  lords  and  rulers  in  all  lands, 

Is  this  the  handiwork  you  give  to  God, 

This  monstrous  thing  distorted  and  soul-quenched? 
How  will  you  ever  straighten  up  this  shape ; 

Touch  it  again  with  immortality; 

Give  back  the  upward  looking  and  the  light ; 

Rebuild  in  it  the  music  and  the  dream; 

Make  right  the  immemorial  infamies, 

Perfidious  wrongs,  immedicable  woes? 

O  masters,  lords,  and  rulers  in  all  lands, 

How  will  the  Future  reckon  with  this  Man? 

How  answer  his  brute  questions  in  that  hour 
When  whirlwinds  of  rebellion  shake  the  world  ? 

How  will  it  be  with  kingdoms  and  with  kings — 

With  those  who  shaped  him  to  the  thing  he  is — 

When  this  dumb  Terror  shall  reply  to  God 
After  the  silence  of  the  centuries? 


GOD  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN 


377 


d.  REVEALED  IN  HISTORICAL  EVENTS 


THE  DESTRUCTION  OF  SENNACHERIB 

Lord  Byron 

The  Assyrian  came  down  like  the  wolf  on  the  fold, 

And  his  cohorts  were  gleaming  in  purple  and  gold ; 

And  the  sheen  of  their  spears  was  like  stars  on  the  sea, 
When  the  blue  wave  rolls  nightly  on  deep  Galilee. 

Like  the  leaves  of  the  forest  when  summer  is  green, 

That  host  with  their  banners  at  sunset  were  seen; 

Like  the  leaves  of  the  forest  when  autumn  hath  blown, 
That  host  on  the  morrow  lay  withered  and  strown. 

For  the  Angel  of  Death  spread  his  wings  on  the  blast, 
And  breathed  in  the  face  of  the  foe  as  he  passed; 

And  the  eyes  of  the  sleepers  waxed  deadly  and  chill, 
And  their  hearts  but  once  heaved,  and  forever  grew  still ! 

And  there  lay  the  steed  with  his  nostril  all  wide, 

But  through  it  there  rolled  not  the  breath  of  his  pride : 
And  the  foam  of  his  gasping  lay  white  on  the  turf, 

And  cold  as  the  spray  of  the  rock-beating  surf. 

And  there  lay  the  rider  distorted  and  pale, 

With  the  dew  on  his  brow  and  the  rust  on  his  mail; 

And  the  tents  were  all  silent,  the  banners  alone, 

The  lances  unlifted,  the  trumpet  unblown. 

And  the  widows  of  Ashur  are  loud  in  their  wail, 

And  the  idols  are  broke  in  the  temple  of  Baal ; 

And  the  might  of  the  Gentile,  unsmote  by  the  sword, 
Hath  melted  like  snow  in  the  glance  of  the  Lord ! 


378  THE  WORLD'S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


BOSTON  HYMN 

Ralph  Waldo  Emerson 

The  word  of  the  Lord  by  night 
To  the  watching  Pilgrims  came, 

As  they  sat  by  the  seaside, 

And  filled  their  hearts  with  flame. 

God  said,  I  am  tired  of  kings, 

I  suffer  them  no  more ; 

Up  to  my  ear  the  morning  brings 
The  outrage  of  the  poor. 

Think  ye  I  made  this  ball 
A  field  of  havoc  and  war, 

Where  tyrants  great  and  tyrants  small 
May  harry  the  weak  and  poor? 

My  angel, — his  name  is  Freedom, — 
Choose  him  to  be  your  king; 

He  shall  cut  pathways  east  and  west, 
And  fend  you  with  his  wing. 

Lo !  I  uncover  the  land 
Which  I  hid  of  old  time  in  the  West, 
As  the  sculptor  uncovers  the  statue 
When  he  has  wrought  his  best; 

I  show  Columbia,  of  the  rocks 
Which  dip  their  foot  in  the  seas 
And  soar  to  the  air-borne  flocks 
Of  clouds  and  the  boreal  fleece. 

I  will  divide  my  goods; 

Call  in  the  wretch  and  slave : 

None  shall  rule  but  the  humble, 

And  none  but  Toil  shall  have. 


GOD  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN 


379 


I  will  have  never  a  noble, 

No  lineage  counted  great; 

Fishers  and  choppers  and  plowmen 
Shall  constitute  a  state. 

Go,  cut  down  trees  in  the  forest 
And  trim  the  straightest  boughs ; 

Cut  down  trees  in  the  forest 
And  build  me  a  wooden  house. 

Call  the  people  together 
The  young  men  and  the  sires, 

The  digger  in  the  harvest  field, 

Hireling  and  him  that  hires. 

And  here  in  a  pine  state-house 
They  shall  choose  men  to  rule 
In  every  needful  faculty, 

In  church  and  state  and  school. 

Lo,  now !  if  these  poor  men 

Can  govern  the  land  and  sea 

And  make  just  laws  below  the  sun, 

As  planets  faithful  be. 

And  ye  shall  succor  men; 

'Tis  nobleness  to  serve; 

Help  them  who  cannot  help  again: 
Beware  from  right  to  swerve. 

I  break  your  bonds  and  masterships, 
And  I  unchain  the  slave : 

Free  be  his  heart  and  hand  henceforth 
As  wind  and  wandering  wave. 

I  cause  from  every  creature 
His  proper  good  to  flow ; 

As  much  as  he  is  and  doeth 
So  much  he  shall  bestow. 


380  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


But,  lay  hands  on  another 
To  coin  his  labor  and  sweat, 

He  goes  in  pawn  for  his  victim 
For  eternal  years  in  debt. 

Today  unbind  the  captive, 

So  only  are  ye  unbound; 

Lift  up  a  people  from  the  dust, 

Trump  of  their  rescue,  sound! 

Pay  ransom  to  the  owner 
And  fill  the  bag  to  the  brim. 

Who  is  the  owner?  The  slave  is  owner, 
And  ever  was.  Pay  him. 

O  North !  Give  him  beauty  for  rags 
And  honor,  O  South !  for  his  shame ; 
Nevada  !  Coin  thy  golden  crags 
With  Freedom’s  image  and  name. 

Up !  and  the  dusky  race 
That  sat  in  darkness  long, — 

Be  swift  their  feet  as  antelopes, 

And  as  Behemoth  strong. 

Come,  East  and  West  and  North, 

By  races,  as  snow  flakes, 

And  carry  my  purpose  forth, 

Which  neither  halts  nor  shakes. 

My  will  fulfilled  shall  be, 

For,  in  daylight  or  in  dark, 

My  thunderbolt  has  eyes  to  see 
His  way  home  to  the  mark. 


GOD  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN 


WHO  FOLLOWS  IN  HIS  TRAIN? 
Reginald  Heber 

The  Son  of  God  goes  forth  to  war, 

A  kingly  crown  to  gain ; 

His  blood-red  banner  streams  afar; 

Who  follows  in  his  train  ? 

Who  best  can  drink  his  cup  of  woe, 
Triumphant  over  pain, 

Who  patient  bears  his  cross  below : 

He  follows  in  his  train ! 


That  martyr  first,  whose  eagle  eye 
Could  pierce  beyond  the  grave; 

Who  saw  his  master  in  the  sky, 

And  called  on  him  to  save ; 

Like  him  with  pardon  on  his  tongue, 

In  midst  of  mortal  pain, 

He  prayed  for  those  that  did  the  wrong; 
Who  follows  in  his  train? 


A  glorious  band,  the  chosen  few, 

On  whom  the  Spirit  came ; 

Twelve  valiant  saints  their  hope  they  knew, 
And  mocked  the  cross  and  flame ; 

They  met  the  tyrant’s  brandished  steel, 

The  lion’s  gory  mane, 

They  bowed  their  necks  the  death  to  feel ! 
Who  follows  in  their  train? 


A  noble  army,  men  and  boys, 

The  matron  and  the  maid, 

Around  the  Saviour’s  throne  rejoice, 
In  robes  of  light  arrayed. 


382  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

They  climbed  the  steep  ascent  of  heaven, 
Through  peril,  toil,  and  pain; 

Oh  God,  to  us  may  grace  be  given 
To  follow  in  their  train! 


THE  AGE  IS  GREAT  AND  STRONG 
Victor  Hugo 

Translated  by  W.  J.  Robertson 

The  age  is  great  and  strong.  Her  chains  are  riven. 
Thoughts  on  the  march  of  man  her  mission  sends; 
Toil’s  clamor  mounts  on  human  speech  to  heaven 
And  with  the  sound  divine  of  nature  blends. 

In  cities  and  in  solitary  stations 

Man  loves  the  milk  wherewith  we  nourish  him; 

And  in  the  shapeless  block  of  somber  nations 
Thought  molds  in  dreams  new  peoples  grand  and  dim. 

New  days  draw  nigh.  Hushed  is  the  riot’s  clangor. 

The  Greve  is  cleansed,  the  old  scaffold  crumbling  lies. 
Volcano  torrents,  like  the  peoples’  anger, 

First  devastate  and  after  fertilize. 

New  mighty  poets,  touched  by  God’s  own  finger, 
Shed  from  inspired  brows  their  radiant  beams. 

Art  has  fresh  valleys  where  our  souls  may  linger, 

And  drink  deep  draughts  of  song  from  sacred  streams. 

Stone  upon  stone,  remembering  antique  manners, 

In  times  that  shake  with  every  storm-tossed  wild, 

The  thinker  rears  these  columns  crowned  with  banners 
Respect  for  gray  old  age,  love  for  child. 

Beneath  our  roof-tree  Duty  and  Right  his  father 
Dwell  once  again  august  and  honored  guests. 

The  outcasts  that  around  our  threshold  gather 
Come  with  less  flaming  eyes,  less  hateful  breasts. 


GOD  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN 


383 


No  longer  truth  closes  her  austere  portals, 

Deciphered  is  each  word,  each  scroll  unfurled, 
Learning  the  book  of  Life  enfranchised  mortals 
Find  a  new  sense’s  secret  in  the  world. 

O  poets !  Iron  and  steam  with  fiery  forces 
Lift  from  the  earth,  while  yet  your  dreams  float  round, 
Time’s  ancient  load,  that  clogged  the  chariot’s  courses 
Crushing  with  heavy  wheels  the  hard  rough  ground. 

Man  by  his  puissant  will  subdues  blind  matter; 
Thinks,  seeks,  creates;  with  living  breath  fulfilled 
The  seeds  that  nature’s  hand  store  up  and  scatter 
Thrill  as  the  forest  leaves  by  winds  are  thrilled. 

Yea,  all  things  move  and  grow.  The  fleet  hours  flying 
Leave  each  their  track.  The  age  has  risen  up  great 
And  now  between  its  luminous  banks,  far-lying, 

Man  like  a  broadened  river  sees  his  fate. 

But  in  this  boasted  march  of  wrong  and  error, 

’Mid  the  vast  splendor  of  an  age  that  glows, 

One  thing,  O  Jesus,  fills  my  heart  with  terror; 

The  echo  of  Thy  voice  still  feebler  grows ! 


CRANMER’S  PROPHECY  OF  QUEEN  ELIZABETH 

William  Shakespeare 
From  Henry  VIII 

Let  me  speak,  sir, 

For  Heaven  now  bids  me;  and  the  words  I  utter 
Let  none  think  flattery,  for  they’ll  find  them  truth. 

This  royal  infant,  (Heaven  still  move  about  her!) 
Though  in  her  cradle,  yet  now  promises 
Upon  this  land  a  thousand  thousand  blessings, 

Which  time  shall  bring  to  ripeness :  She  shall  be 
(But  few  now  living,  can  behold  that  goodness) 


384  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

A  pattern  to  all  princes,  living  with  her, 

And  all,  that  shall  succeed:  Sheba  was  never 
More  covetous  of  wisdom  and  fair  virtue 
Than  this  pure  soul  shall  be :  all  princely  graces, 

That  mould  up  such  a  mighty  piece  as  this  is, 

With  all  the  virtues  that  attend  the  good, 

Shall  still  be  doubled  on  her:  Truth  shall  nurse  her, 

Holy  and  heavenly  thoughts  still  counsel  her : 

She  shall  be  loved  and  fear’d :  Her  own  shall  bless  her : 

Her  foes  shake  like  a  field  of  beaten  corn, 

And  hang  their  heads  with  sorrow :  Good  grows  with  her : 

In  her  days,  every  man  shall  eat  in  safety 
Under  his  own  vine,  what  he  plants ;  and  sing 
The  merry  songs  of  peace  to  all  his  neighbours : 

God  shall  be  truly  known;  and  those  about  her 
From  her  shall  read  the  perfect  ways  of  honour, 

And  by  those  claim  their  greatness,  not  by  blood. 

Nor  shall  this  peace  sleep  with  her:  But  as  when 
The  bird  of  wonder  dies,  the  maiden  phoenix, 

Her  ashes  new  create  another  heir, 

As  great  in  admiration  as  herself ; 

So  shall  she  leave  her  blessedness  to  one, 

(When  heaven  shall  call  her  from  this  cloud  of  darkness,) 
Who,  from  the  sacred  ashes  of  her  honour, 

Shall  star-like  rise,  as  great  in  fame  as  she  was, 

And  so  stand  fix’d:  Peace,  plenty,  love,  truth,  terror, 

That  were  the  servants  to  this  chosen  infant, 

Shall  then  be  his,  and  like  a  vine  grow  to  him; 

Wherever  the  bright  sun  of  heaven  shall  shine. 

His  honour  and  the  greatness  of  his  name 
Shall  be,  and  make  new  nations :  Lie  shall  flourish, 

And,  like  a  mountain  cedar,  reach  his  branches 
To  all  the  plains  about  him:—-Our  children’s  children 
Shall  see  this,  and  bless  Heaven.  25 — v.  4. 


GOD  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN 


385 


REVEALED  IN  GROUPS  OR  ORGANIZATIONS  OF  INDIVIDUALS 

i.  In  the  Family 


THE  COTTER’S  SATURDAY  NIGHT 
Robert  Burns 

The  cheerfu’  supper  done,  wi’  serious  face, 

They,  round  the  ingle,  form  a  circle  wide ; 

The  sire  turns  o’er  wi’  patriarchal  grace, 

The  big  ha’  Bible,  ance  his  father’s  pride. 

His  bonnet  reverently  is  laid  aside, 

His  lyart  haffets  wearing  thin  and  bare ; 

Those  strains  that  once  did  sweet  in  Zion  glide, 

He  wales  a  portion  with  judicious  care; 

And,  “Let  us  worship  God !”  he  says,  with  solemn  air. 

They  chant  their  artless  notes  in  simple  guise, 

They  tune  their  hearts,  by  far  the  noblest  aim ; 
Perhaps  Dundee’s  wild-warbling  measures  rise, 

Or  plaintive  Martyrs ,  worthy  of  the  name ; 

Or  noble  Elgin  beats  the  heaven-ward  flame, 

The  sweetest  far  of  Scotia’s  holy  lays : 

Compar’d  with  these,  Italian  trills  are  tame; 

The  tickl’d  ear  no  heart-felt  raptures  raise ; 

Nae  unison  hae  they  with  our  Creator’s  praise. 

The  priest-like  father  reads  the  sacred  page, — 
How  Abram  was  the  friend  of  God  on  high; 

Or,  Moses  bade  eternal  warfare  wage 
With  Amalek’s  ungracious  progeny; 

Or,  how  the  royal  Bard  did  groaning  lie 
Beneath  the  stroke  of  heaven’s  avenging  ire; 

Or  Job’s  pathetic  plaint  and  wailing  cry; 

Or  rapt  Isaiah’s  wild,  seraphic  fire ; 

Or  other  holy  Seers  that  tune  the  sacred  lyre. 


386  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

Perhaps  the  Christian  volume  is  the  theme : 

How  guiltless  blood  for  guilty  man  was  shed; 

How  He,  who  bore  in  heaven  the  second  name 
Had  not  on  earth  whereon  to  lay  His  head; 

How  His  first  followers  and  servants  sped ;  . 

How  precepts  sage  they  wrote  to  many  a  land; 

How  He,  who  lone  in  Patmos  banished, 

Saw  in  the  sun  a  mighty  angel  stand, 

And  heard  great  Bab’lon’s  doom  pronounc’d  by  Heaven’ 

Command. 

Then  kneeling  down  to  Heaven’s  Eternal  King, 

The  saint,  the  father,  and  the  husband  prays; 

Hope  ‘springs  exulting  on  triumphant  wing,’ 

That  thus  they  all  shall  meet  in  future  days, 

There,  ever  bask  in  uncreated  rays, 

No  more  to  sigh  or  shed  the  bitter  tear, 

Together  hymning  their  Creator’s  praise, 

In  such  society,  yet  still  more  dear; 

While  circling  time  moves  round  in  an  eternal  sphere. 

Compar’d  to  this,  how  poor  Religion’s  pride, 

In  all  the  pomp  of  method  and  of  art; 

When  men  display  to  congregations  wide 
Devotion’s  ev’ry  grace  except  the  heart ! 

The  Power,  incens’d,  the  pageant  will  desert, 

The  pompous  strain,  the  sacerdotal  stole; 

But  haply,  in  some  cottage  far  apart, 

May  hear,  well-pleas’d,  the  language  of  the  soul, 

And  in  His  Book  of  Life  the  inmates  poor  enroll. 

Then  homeward  all  take  off  their  sev’ral  way  ; 

The  youngling  cottagers  retire  to  rest : 

The  parent  pair  their  secret  homage  pay, 

And  proffer  up  to  Heaven  the  warm  request, 

That  He  who  stills  the  raven’s  clam’rous  nest, 

And  decks  the  lily  fair  in  flow’ry  pride, 

Would,  in  the  way  His  wisdom  sees  the  best, 

For  them  and  for  their  little  ones  provide; 

But,  chiefly,  in  their  hearts  with  grace  divine  preside. 


GOD  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN 


387 


From  scenes  like  these,  old  Scotia’s  grandeur  springs, 
That  makes  her  lov’d  at  home,  rever’d  abroad : 
Princes  and  lords  are  but  the  breath  of  kings, 

‘An  honest  man’s  the  noblest  work  of  God.’ 

And  certes,  in  fair  Virtue’s  heavenly  road, 

The  cottage  leaves  the  palace  far  behind: 

What  is  a  lordling’s  pomp  ?  A  cumbrous  load, 
Disguising  oft  the  wretch  of  human  kind, 

Studied  in  arts  of  Hell,  in  wickedness  refin’d ! 

O  Scotia !  my  dear,  my  native  soil ! 

For  whom  my  warmest  wish  to  heaven  is  sent! 
Long  may  thy  hardy  sons  of  rustic  toil 
Be  blest  with  health,  and  peace,  and  sweet  content ! 
And  oh !  may  Heaven  their  simple  lives  prevent 
From  Luxury’s  contagion,  weak  and  vile! 

Then,  howe’er  crowns  and  coronets  be  rent, 

A  virtuous  populace  may  rise  the  while, 

And  stand  a  wall  of  fire  around  their  much-lov’d  isle. 

O  THOU !  who  pour’d  the  patriotic  tide, 

That  stream’d  through  Wallace’s  undaunted  heart, 
Who  dar’d  to  nobly  stem  tyrannic  pride, 

Or  nobly  die,  the  second  glorious  part; 

(The  patriot’s  God,  peculiarly  thou  art, 

His  friend,  inspirer,  guardian,  and  reward!) 

O  never,  never  Scotia’s  realm  desert; 

But  still  the  patriot,  and  the  patriot-bard 
In  bright  succession  raise,  her  ornament  and  guard ! 


LOVE’S  VISION 
Edward  Carpenter 
At  night  in  each  other’s  arms, 

Content,  overjoyed,  resting,  deep,  deep,  down  in  the  darkness, 
Lo,  the  heavens  opened  and  He  appeared — 

Whom  no  mortal  eye  may  see, 

Whom  no  eye  clouded  with  Care, 


388  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

Whom  none  who  seeks  after  this  or  that,  whom  none  who  has 
not  escaped  from  self. 

There — in  the  region  of  Equality,  in  the  world  of  Freedom  no 
longer  limited, 

Standing  as  a  lofty  peak  in  heaven  above  the  clouds, 

From  below  hidden,  yet  to  all  who  pass  into  that  region  most 
clearly  visible — 

He  the  Eternal  appeared. 


2.  In  the  City 


CALM  SOUL  OF  ALL  THINGS 

Matthew  Arnold 

Calm  soul  of  all  things !  be  it  mine 
To  feel  amid  the  city’s  jar, 

That  there  abides  a  peace  of  thine 
Man  did  not  make  and  cannot  mar ! 

The  will  to  neither  strive  nor  cry 
The  power  to  feel  with  others  give ! 
Calm,  calm  me  more !  nor  let  me  die 
Before  I  have  begun  to  live ! 


EAST  LONDON 
Matthew  Arnold 

’Twas  August,  and  the  fierce  sun  overhead 
Smote  on  the  squalid  streets  of  Bethnal  Green, 
And  the  pale  weaver,  through  his  windows  seen 
In  Spitalfields,  look’d  thrice  dispirited. 


GOD  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN 


389 


I  met  a  preacher  there  I  knew,  and  said : 

“Ill  and  o’er-worked,  how  fare  you  in  this  scene  ?” — 

“Bravely!”  said  he;  “for  I  of  late  have  been 

Much  cheered  with  thoughts  of  Christ,  the  living  bread.” 

O  human  soul !  as  long  as  thou  canst  so 
Set  up  a  mark  of  everlasting  light, 

Above  the  howling  senses’  ebb  and  flow, 

To  cheer  thee,  and  to  right  thee  if  thou  roam — 

Not  with  lost  toil  thou  laborest  through  the  night ! 

Thou  mak’st  the  heaven  thou  hop’st  indeed  thy  home. 


OVER  THE  GREAT  CITY 
Edward  Carpenter 


Over  the  great  city 

Where  the  wind  rushes  through  the  parks  and  gardens, 

In  the  air,  the  high  clouds  brooding, 

In  the  lines  of  street  perspective,  the  lamps,  the  traffic, 

The  pavements  and  the  innumerable  feet  upon  them, 

I  am  :  make  no  mistake — do  not  be  deluded. 

Think  not  because  I  do  not  appear  at  first  glance — because  the 
centuries  have  gone  by  and  there  is  no  assured  tidings  of 
me  that  therefore  I  am  not  there. 

Think  not  because  all  goes  its  own  way  that  therefore  I  do  not 
go  my  own  way  through  all. 

The  fixed  bent  of  hurrying  faces  in  the  street — each  turned 
toward  its  own  light,  seeing  no  other — yet  I  am  the  Light 
towards  which  they  all  look. 

The  toil  of  so  many  hands  towards  so  many  multifarious  ends, 
yet  my  hands  know  the  touch  and  twining  of  them  all. 

All  come  to  me  at  last. 

There  is  no  love  like  mine ; 

For  all  other  love  takes  one  and  not  another; 

And  other  love  is  pain,  but  this  is  joy  eternal. 


390  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


THE  CITY’S  CROWN 
Dudley  Foulke 

What  makes  a  city  great?  Huge  piles  of  stone 
Heaped  heavenward?  Vast  multitudes  who  dwell 
Within  wide  circling  walls?  Palace  and  throne 
And  riches  past  the  count  of  man  to  tell, 

And  wide  domain?  Nay,  these  the  empty  husk! 

True  glory  dwells  where  great  deeds  are  done, 

,  Where  glorious  men  rise  whose  names  a’thwart  the  dusk 
Of  misty  centuries  gleam  like  the  sun ! 

In  Athens,  Sparta,  Florence,  ’twas  the  soul 
That  was  the  city’s  bright  immortal  part, 

The  splendor  of  the  spirit  was  their  goal, 

Their  jewel  the  unconquerable  heart! 

So  may  the  city  that  I  love  be  great 
’Till  every  stone  shall  be  articulate. 

THE  CITY 

George  William  Russell  (A.  E.) 

Full  of  Zeus  the  cities :  full  of  Zeus  the  harbors :  full  of  Zeus  are 
all  the  ways  of  men. 

What  domination  of  what  darkness  dies  this  hour, 

And  through  what  new,  rejoicing,  winged,  ethereal  power 
O’erthrown,  the  cells  opened,  the  heart  released  from  fear? 
Gay  twilight  and  grave  twilight  pass.  The  stars  appear 
O’er  the  prodigious,  smouldering,  dusky,  city  flare. 

The  hanging  gardens  of  Babylon  were  not  more  fair 

Then  these  blue-flickering  glades,  where  childhood  in  its  glee 

Re-echoes  with  fresh  voice  the  heaven-lit  ecstasy. 

Yon  girl  whirls  like  an  eastern  dervish.  Her  dance  is 
No  less  a  god-intoxicated  dance  than  his, 

Though  all-unknowing  the  arcane  fire  that  lights  her  feet. 
What  motions  of  what  starry  tribes  her  limbs  repeat. 

I  too,  fire-smitten,  cannot  linger :  I  know  there  lies 


GOD  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN 


39i 


Open  somewhere  this  hour  a  gate  to  Paradise, 

Its  blazing  battlements  with  watchers  thronged,  O  where  ? 

I  know  not,  but  my  flame-winged  feet  shall  lead  me  there. 

O,  hurry,  hurry,  unknown  shepherd  of  desires, 

And  with  thy  flock  of  bright  imperishable  fires 
Pen  me  within  the  starry  fold,  ere  night  falls 
And  I  am  left  alone  below  immutable  walls. 

Or  am  I  there  already,  and  is  it  Paradise 

To  look  on  mortal  things  with  an  immortal’s  eyes? 

Above  the  misty  brilliance,  the  streets  assume 
A  night-dilated  blue  magnificence  of  gloom 
Like  many-templed  Nineveh  tower  beyond  tower; 

And  I  am  hurried  on  in  this  immortal  hour. 

Mine  eyes  beget  new  majesties:  my  spirit  greets 

The  trams,  the  high-built  glittering  galleons  of  the  streets 

The  flow  through  twilight  rivers  from  galaxies  of  light. 

Nay,  in  the  Fount  of  Days  they  rise,  they  take  their  flight, 

And  wend  to  the  great  deep,  the  Holy  Sepulcher. 

Those  dark  misshapen  folk  to  be  made  lovely  there 
Hurry  with  me,  not  all  ignoble  as  we  seem, 

Lured  by  some  inexpressible  and  gorgeous  dream. 

The  earth  melts  in  my  blood.  The  air  that  I  inhale 
Is  like  enchanted  wine  poured  from  the  Holy  Grail. 

What  was  that  glimmer  then?  Was  it  the  flash  of  wings 
As  through  the  blinded  mart  rode  on  the  King  of  Kings? 

O  stay,  departing  glory,  stay  with  us  but  a  day, 

And  burning  Seraphim  shall  leap  from  out  our  clay, 

And  plumed  and  crested  hosts  shall  shine  where  men  have  been, 
Heaven  hold  no  lordlier  court  than  earth  at  College  Green. 

Ah,  no,  the  wizardry  is  over ;  the  magic  flame 
That  might  have  melted,  all  in  beauty  fades  as  it  came. 

The  stars  are  far  and  faint  and  strange.  The  night  draws 
down. 

Exiled  from  light,  forlorn,  I  walk  in  Dublin  town. 

Yet  had  I  might  to  lift  the  veil,  the  will  to  dare, 

The  fiery  rushing  chariots  of  the  Lord  are  there, 

The  whirlwind  path,  the  blazing  gates,  the  trumpets  blown, 

The  halls  of  heaven,  the  majesty  of  throne  by  throne, 

Enraptured  faces,  hands  uplifted,  welcome  sung 

By  the  throned  gods,  tall,  golden-coloured,  joyful,  young. 


392  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


THE  GARDEN  OF  GOD 

George  William  Russell  (A.  E.) 

Within  the  iron  cities 

One  walked  unknown  for  years, 

In  his  heart  the  pity  of  pities 
That  grew  for  human  tears. 

When  love  and  grief  were  ended 
The  flower  of  pity  grew : 

By  unseen  hands  hwas  tended 
And  fed  with  holy  dew. 

Though  in  his  heart  were  barred  in 
The  blooms  of  beauty  blown, 

Yet  he  who  grew  the  garden 
Could  call  no  flower  his  own. 

For  by  the  hands  that  watered, 

The  blooms  that  opened  fair 
Through  frost  and  pain  were  scattered 
To  sweeten  the  dead  air. 


THE  GOSPEL  OF  LABOR 
Henry  van  Dyke 

But  I  think  the  king  of  that  country  comes  out  from  his  tireless 
host 

And  walks  in  this  world  of  the  weary,  as  if  he  loved  it  the 
most : 

For  here  in  the  dusty  confusion,  with  eyes  that  are  heavy  and 
dim 

He  meets  again  the  laboring  men  who  are  looking  and  longing 
for  Him. 

He  cancels  the  curse  of  Eden,  and  brings  them  a  blessing 
instead, 


GOD  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN 


393 


Blessed  are  they  that  labor  for  Jesus  partakes  of  their  bread. 

He  puts  His  hand  to  their  burdens,  He  enters  their  homes  at 
night : 

Who  does  his  best  shall  have  as  his  guest  the  Master  of  life 
and  light. 

And  courage  will  come  with  His  presence,  and  patience  return 
at  His  touch, 

And  manifold  sins  be  forgiven  to  those  who  love  Him  much : 

And  the  cries  of  envy  and  anger  will  change  to  the  songs  of 
cheer, 

For  the  toiling  age  will  forget  its  rage  when  the  Prince  of 
Peace  draws  near. 

This  is  the  gospel  of  labor,  ring  it,  ye  bells  of  the  kirk, — 

The  Lord  of  Love  comes  down  from  above  to  live  with  the  men 
who  work, 

This  is  the  rose  that  he  planted,  here  in  the  thorn-cursed  soil — 

Heaven  is  blessed  with  perfect  rest,  but  the  blessing  of  earth 
is  toil. 


IN  THE  CITY 

Israel  Zangwill 

Sudden  amid  the  slush  and  rain, 

I  know  not  how,  I  know  not  why, 

A  rose  unfolds  within  my  brain, 

And  all  the  world  is  at  July. 

A  trumpet  sounds,  green  surges  splash 
And  daffodillies  dance  i’  the  sun ; 

Through  tears  fair  pictures  flit  and  splash 
Upon  the  city’s  background  dun. 

Women  are  true  and  men  are  good, 
Concord  sleeps  at  the  heart  of  strife, 

How  sweet  is  human  brotherhood, 

And  all  the  common  daily  life ! 


394  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


3.  In  the  Church 


A  NEW  ENGLAND  CHURCH 
Wilson  Agnew  Barrett 

The  white  church  on  the  hill 
Looks  over  the  little  bay — 

A  beautiful  thing  on  the  hill 
When  the  mist  is  gray; 

When  the  hill  looks  old,  and  the  air  turns  cold 
With  the  dying  day  ! 

The  white  church  on  the  hill — 

The  Greek  in  a  Puritan  town — 

Was  built  on  the  brow  of  the  hill 
For  John  Wesley’s  God’s  renown, 

And  a  conscience  old  set  a  steeple  cold 
On  its  Grecian  crown. 

In  a  storm  of  faith  on  the  hill 
Hands  raised  it  over  the  bay. 

When  the  night  is  clear  on  the  hill, 

It  stands  up  strong  and  gray; 

But  its  door  is  old,  and  its  tower  points  cold 
To  the  Milky  Way. 

The  white  church  on  the  hill 
Looks  lonely  over  the  town. 

Dim  to  them  under  the  hill 
Is  its  God’s  renown, 

And  its  Bible  old,  and  its  creed  grown  cold, 
And  the  letters  brown. 


GOD  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN 


395 


THE  LATEST  DECALOGUE 

Arthur  Hugh  Clough 

Thou  shalt  have  one  God  only;  who 
Would  he  at  the  expense  of  two? 

No  graven  images  may  be 
Worship’d,  except  the  currency: 

Swear  not  at  all ;  for,  for  thy  curse 
Thine  enemy  is  none  the  worse : 

At  church  on  Sunday  to  attend 
Will  serve  to  keep  the  world  thy  friend: 

Honour  thy  parents ;  that  is,  all 
From  whom  advancement  may  befall; 

Thou  shalt  not  kill ;  but  needst  not  strive 
Officiously  to  keep  alive : 

Do  not  adultery  commit; 

Advantage  rarely  comes  of  it: 

Thou  shalt  not  steal ;  an  empty  feat, 
Where  ’tis  so  lucrative  to  cheat: 

Bear  not  false  witness;  let  the  lie 
Have  time  on  its  own  wings  to  fly: 

Thou  shalt  not  covet,  but  tradition 
Approves  all  forms  of  competition. 


396  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


THE  IMPERCIPIENT 
(At  a  Cathedral  Service) 

Thomas  Hardy 

That  with  this  bright  believing  band 
I  have  no  claim  to  be, 

That  faiths  by  which  my  comrades  stand, 
Seem  fantasies  to  me, 

And  mirage-mists  their  Shining  Land, 

Is  a  strange  destiny. 

Why  thus  my  soul  should  be  consigned 
To  Infelicity, 

Why  always  I  must  feel  as  blind 
To  sights  my  brethren  see, 

Why  joys  they’ve  found  I  cannot  find, 
Abides  a  mystery. 

Since  heart  of  mine  knows  not  that  ease 
Which  they  know;  since  it  be 

That  He  who  breathes  All’s-Well  to  these 
Breathes  no  Albs-Well  to  me, 

My  lack  might  move  their  sympathies 
And  Christian  charity  ! 

I  am  like  a  gazer  who  should  mark 
An  inland  company 

Standing  upfingered  with,  ‘'Hark !  hark ! 
The  glorious  distant  sea !” 

And  feel,  “Alas,  ’tis  but  yon  dark 
And  wind-swept  pine  to  me !” 

Yet  I  would  bear  my  shortcomings 
With  meet  tranquillity, 

But  for  the  charge  that  blessed  things, 

Pd  liefer  not  have  be. 

O,  doth  a  bird  deprived  of  wings 


GOD  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN 


397 


Go  earth-bound  wilfully ! 
Enough !  As  yet  disquiet  clings 
About  us.  Rest  shall  we. 


THE  CITY  CHURCH 
E.  H.  K. 

There  is  a  sentinel  before  the  gate 

Who  guards  it  night  and  day.  And  on  his  face 

There  ever  lurks  a  scornful,  sceptic  smile, 

Which  mocks  the  hallowed  precincts,  and  invites 
The  teeming  millions  of  humanity 
To  jeer  in  unison  with  him,  and  press 
Their  busy  footsteps  quicker.  And  without, 

The  flags  are  worn  and  hollowed  by  the  tread 
Of  men  and  women,  but  within  they  lie 
Untrodden,  smooth  and  true,  as  on  the  day 
When  God  first  found  His  temple  made  with  hands, 

And  came  and  dwelt  there.  Yet  men  dare  not  pass 
The  guardian  at  the  gateway,  for  they  dread 
The  jesting  of  their/ fellows,  and  they  steel 
Their  hearts  against  the  summons  of  their  souls, 

And  hasten  past  the  portal — for  they  know 
The  sentinel  is  Satan.  But  within 
The  throbbing  of  the  pulses  of  the  world 
Is  silenced,  and  the  soul  is  free  to  roam 
At  random  through  the  mansions  of  the  mind. 

For  in  the  quiet  of  the  shadowed  aisle, 

The  tired  eyes  are  lifted  to  behold 
The  blessed  Cross,  illumined  by  the  gleam 
Of  crimson  from  the  sanctuary  lamp, 

Hung  in  the  chancel  by  a  silver  chain, 

Burning  for  ever.  And  amid  the  gloom 

The  soul  can  leave  the  body  and  ascend 

The  stair  that  leads  from  earth  through  flame  and  cloud 

Up  to  God’s  heaven,  and  forget  man’s  hell — - 

For  still  the  grinning  guardian  keeps  the  gate, 

And  still  men  fear  the  sneer  that  curls  his  lip, 

And  still  they  stab  their  souls  and  slink  away. 


398  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


PRIEST  OR  POET 
Shane  Leslie 

O  Lord,  why  must  thy  poets  peak  and  pine 
Why  fall  thy  singers  into  fate? 

When  all  thy  priests  do  sup  on  amber  wine 
And  walk  in  purples  delicate? 

Thy  Prophets  of  the  desert  honey  sip, 

And  sate  their  souls  with  loneliness, 

Yet  breakest  Thou  Thy  flame  upon  their  lip 
And  givest  camel’s  hair  for  dress. 

To  Poets,  Lord,  Thou  givest  neither  drink 
Nor  raiment,  fire  nor  peace  nor  food; 

Enhungered,  thirsting  as  they  daily  sink 
Beneath  the  trampling  multitude. 


THE  CHURCH 

Edwin  Ford  Piper 

The  blinding  sun  at  ten  o’clock 

Glares  on  the  white  walls  of  the  little  church, — 

The  shingles  silver-gray,  the  shutters  green, 

Sunflowers  man-high  in  bloom  against  the  wall, — 

And  glares  on  dingy  wagons  trailed  by  dust, 
Slow-jolting  to  the  platform  at  the  door. 

Women  alight  and  enter,  while  the  men 

Tie  sweating  teams  to  the  much-gnawed  hitching  posts. 

How  drowsily  the  horses  stamp  at  flies ! 

The  landscape  wavers  in  the  shimmering  heat. 

Come  in  from  the  strong  sunlight.  The  pine  pews 
Are  filled  with  settlers.  Men  with  grizzled  beards, 

And  faces  weathered  rough  by  sun  and  wind — 

Wind  that  would  wear  down  granite — listless  stand 


GOD  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN 


399 


Awkwardly  easing  muscles  now  relaxed 
Longer  than  is  their  use.  The  women  move 
Graceful  and  gracious,  whether  pale  or  tanned, 
Thin,  nervous,  or  in  rosy  health.  Their  eyes 
Are  bright,  and  bearing  cheerful.  Least  at  ease 
Are  growing  girls  and  boys.  Welcomes  go  round, 
And  gossips  buzz  until  the  organ  wails 
The  slow,  sad  measures  of  the  opening  hymn. 

Beside  the  window,  dreamily, 

A  sunflower  pokes  its  stiff  and  oily  head 
Droned  over  by  a  hairy  bumble-bee. 

An  awkward  boy  sits  gazing;  does  not  hear 
The  text  or  sermon;  only  sees  the  flower 
Nod  in  the  breeze,  and  finds  the  pew  grow  hard, 
While  muscles  twitch  and  ache  for  liberty. 

A  little  church;  the  settlers  come  for  miles. 

Some  few,  unhearing,  sit  in  selfish  dreams; 

For  life  is  vilely  mingled,  sweetly  mixed, 

Scanty  or  bounteous  in  vital  force; 

But  here  the  most  are  really  worshippers 
Seeking  in  fellowship  a  sympathy 
With  God.  Their  simple  faces  plainly  show 
What  feelings  stir  the  heart,  for  hard  looks  melt, 
And  thin,  worn  wretchedness  in  garb  grotesque 
Is  eased  of  ugliness  while  it  feeds 
On  love  and  hope.  This  meager  hour  may  lift 
Some  grovelling  face  to  see  the  blessed  sky; 
Master  a  soul,  and  yield  it  back  to  life 
Tempered  against  the  evil  days  to  be. 

A  little  thing,  this  church?  Remove  its  roots 
Ossa  upon  Pelion  would  not  fill  the  pit. 


4oo  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


THE  CHURCH 

Jules  Romain 

Translated  by  Jethro  Bithell 

The  self-deceit  of  having  wrought  the  light 

People  arrive  to  worship  in  their  church. 

Though  it  is  getting  tired  and  insecure, 

The  monument  can  make  a  gathering  yet 
With  people  poured  into  it  by  the  roads. 

It  sifts  them  as  they  enter  through  its  porch, 

And  gently  it  removes  from  each  the  thoughts 
Which  might  not  melt  so  well  as  all  the  rest, 
Replacing  them  by  others  left  behind 
By  those  who  came  to  Mass  in  days  of  old. 

The  crowd  which  tramples  on  the  flags  outside 
Bears  nosegays  of  ideas  new  and  bright; 

The  fresh  dreams  of  to-day  spread  over  them, 
Rosy  and  blue  as  sunshades  which  in  their 
Own  manner  dye  the  radiance  of  the  sky. 

Inside  there  are  no  nosegays  and  no  sunshades. 

The  naves  and  aisles  are  overflowing  with 
A  crowd  the  pillars  intimately  know, 

Their  contact  is  as  ancient  as  the  church, 

And  every  summer  Sunday  when  the  sun 
Begins  to  lick  the  windows  by  one  edge, 

And  in  the  winter  of  discoloured  lamps, 

For  centuries  this  crowd  has  been  reborn 
On  every  following  Sunday  still  the  same. 

Women  and  men  are  entering  in  file. 

The  crowd  is  borne  in  haste  by  all  the  doors, 
Rumbling  an  instant,  ordered,  then  appeased; 


GOD  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN 


401 


It  has  not  changed  its  shape ;  it  is  already 
Moulded  unto  the  contours  of  the  walls; 

Faithfully  bodies  lean  on  the  same  chairs. 

Now  it  is  born  again  while  ring  the  bells. 

But  the  dark  power 
That  gives  it  life 
On  the  seventh  day 
Of  every  week, 

Softens  at  last 
Like  an  old  spring, 

Little  by  little 
Born  less  far 
From  death. 

It  is  a  group 
Worn  out  with  use 
Whose  flesh  grows  flabby. 

And  in  the  winter 
It  is  cold 
Under  the  roof. 

In  olden  days, 

In  the  city 

It  was  the  greatest  of  unanimous  beings, 

And  all  the  city  was  transfused  in  it. 

But  now  the  workshops  have  arisen, 

The  workshops  full  of  youth ! 

They  live  in  ardour0 

Their  smoke  soars  higher  than  the  sound  of  bells. 
They  do  not  fear  to  hide  the  sun, 

For  their  machines  make  sunshine. 

Like  a  dog  that  comes  out  of  a  pool  and  sneezes, 
The  workshop  shivering  scatters  round  it  drops 
Of  energy  that  wake  the  town  to  life. 

But  the  senile  group 
Sprouts  not  with  bristling 
Wires  and  cables. 


402 


THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


No  electricity 
Rustles  from  it 
To  countless  houses. 

It  is  feeble, 

Its  chinks  are  stopped, 

It  is  gathered  in. 

But  it  preserves  with  pride  its  fixed  idea: 

Others  may  swell  with  sap  and  ramify; 

And  shadow  with  a  foliage  of  green  forces 

All  the  massed  houses; 

The  humble  group  would  tenderly,  heart  to  heart, 

Speak  to  the  infinite  group  benevolent  words. 

For  it  is  sure  a  soul  stands  o’er  the  world. 

It  knows  God’s  finger  painlessly  from  Heaven 
Leads  the  leash  of  natural  forces; 

That  God  sees  all,  and  that  His  tender  eyes 

Wrap  up  the  form  and  penetrate  the  essence  of  things. 

The  group  is  sure  of  it. 

But  fears 

Lest  having  to  keep  watch  o’er  all  these  minds 
And  bodies,  all  these  angels,  beasts,  and  deaths, 
Ant-hills,  cities,  forests, 

Planets  and  planetary  systems, 

God  see  no  more  the  little  auditory 
Which  listens  to  the  Mass  in  pillared  shade. 

It  calls  Him;  makes  to  Him  the  holy  signs. 

In  olden  days  God  taught  His  creatures  words 
Which  force  Him  to  give  heed  and  to  vouchsafe. 

The  group  that  mumbles  them  knows  not  their  meaning, 
But  knows  the  priest  before  the  altar  knows : 

The  illuminated  summit  of  the  group. 


GOD  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN 


403 


Upon  the  murmurs  serving  it  as  rollers 
Slowly  the  common  thought  advances,  like 
A  boat  that  fishers  launch  into  the  sea; 

And  onward  floats  the  thought  to  God. 

From  hearts  the  fervour  passes  to  the  walls, 

The  rising  fluid  magnetizes 

The  steeple,  and  the  steeple  brings  down  God. 


God  approaches,  God  descends; 
He  is  quite  near;  the  air 
Weighs  heavier. 

Something  compresses,  heats  it; 
The  choir  is  filled  with  incense 
So  that,  arriving,  God 
Shall  find  here  clouds 
Like  those  He  dwells  in, 

And  feels  less  strange. 


He  is  quite  near,  quite  near.  You  can  whisper  to  Him, 
Tell  Him  what  you  would  dare  tell  no  man,  ask  Him 
For  anything  you  like.  And  even  if  God 
Refuse,  He  is  so  good  you  cannot  vex  Him. 

“O  God  in  Heaven,  vouchsafe  to  cure  my  leg ! 

Matter  burst  from  it  yesterday.  My  God, 
Vouchsafe  to  fill  my  shop  with  customers! 

— Help  me  find  out  if  my  servant  John 
Is  robbing  me ! — O,  God,  cure  my  sore  eyes ! 

— Save  me,  my  God,  from  being  drunk  so  often! 

— Lord,  let  my  son  pass  his  examination ! 

He  is  so  shy.  Thou  shalt  have  a  great  big  candle. 

— Help  me  to  make  her  fall  in  love  with  me, 

I  will  put  ninepence  in  St.  Anthony’s  box. 

— My  God,  if  only  I  could  get  some  work ! 

— He  makes  a  martyr  of  me.  Let  him  die ! 

- — My  God,  my  God,  I  am  certain  I  am  pregnant; 

O  let  the  child  go  rotten  in  my  belly.” 


404  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

It  is  like  a  hamlet  at  the  hour  of  noon. 

On  every  soul’s  hearth  they  have  kindled  fire, 

Which  casts  its  smoke  and  yields  it  to  the  wind. 

God  sees  the  bluish  prayers  climb  up  to  Him. 

They  are  a  perfume  which  delight  Him.  He 
Comes  nearer.  The  crowd  rises,  touches  Him. 

Their  longing  to  caress  serves  them  for  arm. 

They  seize  on  God  to  press  Him  close  to  them; 

To  be  alone  and  to  possess  Him  all. 

This  morning,  God,  the  conscience  of  the  universe, 

Has  from  the  universe  withdrawn,  like  blood 
Out  of  a  bull’s  limbs  bleeding  at  the  head. 

All  the  world’s  soul,  the  whole  of  God  is  here; 

The  church  is  the  glad  vase  that  gathers  Him. 

God  now  can  think  but  of  the  little  crowd; 

The  things  they  wish  He  too  must  wish,  since  He 
In  them  is  incarnated  and  their  breath. 

Then  in  mystical  servitude; 

Drunk  with  alcohol 
Hid  in  the  organ  notes, 

The  light  of  the  rose-window, 

And  the  stained  glass ; 

Clad  with  incense  like 
A  scented  sleep  that  bends  and  swoons; 

By  old,  magnetic  rites 
Plunged  in  hypnotic  sleep 
Whence  mount,  like  bubbles 
Crossing  stagnant  waters, 

Memories  and  mouldiness 
And  age-old  madness; 

Forgetting  that  beyond  these  walls 
There  is  the  town,  and  earth, 

And  then  infinity; 

The  group  so  old,  so  little, 

Which  withers,  which  is  scarce  alive, 

Dreams  aloud  that  it  is  God. 


GOD  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN 


405 


LILLIUM  REGIS 
Francis  Thompson 

O  Lily  of  the  King !  low  lies  thy  silver  wing, 

And  long  has  been  the  hour  of  thine  unqueening; 

And  thy  scent  of  Paradise  on  the  night  wind  spills  its  sighs, 
Nor  any  take  the  secrets  of  its  meaning. 

O  Lily  of  the  King !  I  speak  a  heavy  thing, 

O  Patience,  most  sorrowful  of  daughters ! 

Lo,  the  hour  is  at  hand  for  the  troubling  of  the  land, 

And  red  shall  be  the  breaking  of  the  waters. 

Sit  fast  upon  thy  stalk,  when  the  blast  shall  with  thee  talk, 

With  the  mercies  of  the  king  for  thine  awning; 

And  the  just  understand  that  thine  hour  is  at  hand, 

Thine  hour  at  hand  with  power  in  the  dawning. 

When  the  nations  lie  in  blood,  and  their  kings  a  broken  brood, 
Look  up,  O  most  sorrowful  of  daughters ! 

Lift  up  thine  head  and  hark  what  sounds  are  in  the  dark, 

For  his  feet  are  coming  to  thee  on  the  waters. 

O  Lily  of  the  King !  I  shall  not  see,  that  sing, 

I  shall  not  see  the  hour  of  thy  queening ! 

But  my  Song  shall  see,  and  wake  like  a  flower  that  dawn-winds 
shake, 

And  sigh  with  joy  the  odors  of  its  meaning. 

O  Lily  of  the  King,  remember  then  the  thing 
That  this  dead  mouth  sang;  and  thy  daughters, 

As  they  dance  before  His  way,  sing  there  on  the  Day 
What  I  sang  when  the  Night  was  on  the  waters! 


THE  CHURCH  TODAY 

William  Watson 

Outwardly  splendid  as  of  old — 

Inwardly  sparkless,  void  and  cold — 

Her  force  and  fire  all  spent  and  gone — 
Like  the  dead  moon  she  still  shines  on. 


VII.  Prayers 

a.  DESCRIPTIONS  OF  PRAYER 

b.  GENERAL  PRAYERS 

C.  PRAYERS  OF  INVOCATION 

d.  PRAYERS  FOR  COMFORT  IN  PROSPECT  OF 
DEATH 

'  e.  PRAYERS  FOR  GUIDANCE 

f.  PRAYERS  OF  GRATITUDE 

g.  WAR  PRAYERS 

ll.  PRAYERS  FOR  SPECIAL  THINGS 


VII.  Prayers 


a.  DESCRIPTIONS  OF  PRAYER 


THE  PEAKS 
Stephen  Crane 


In  the  night 

Gray  heavy  clouds  muffled  the  valleys 
And  the  peaks  looked  toward  God  alone : 

“O  Master,  that  movest  the  wind  with  a  finger, 

Humble,  idle,  futile  peaks  are  we, 

Grant  that  we  may  run  swiftly  across  the  world 
To  huddle  in  worship  at  Thy  feet.” 

In  the  morning 

A  noise  of  men  at  work  came  through  the  clear  blue  miles, 
And  the  little  black  cities  were  apparent. 

“O  Master,  that  knowest  the  meaning  of  raindrops, 
Humble,  idle,  futile  peaks  are  we, 

Give  voice  to  us,  we  pray,  O  Lord, 

That  we  may  sing  thy  goodness  to  the  sun.” 

In  the  evening, 

The  far  valleys  were  sprinkled  with  tiny  lights, 

O  Master 

Thou  that  knowest  the  value  of  kings  and  birds, 

Thou  hast  made  us  humble,  idle,  futile  peaks. 

Thou  only  needest  eternal  patience ; 

We  bow  to  Thy  wisdom,  O  Lord — 

Humble,  idle,  futile  peaks.” 

In  the  night 

Gray,  heavy  clouds  muffled  the  valleys 
And  the  peaks  looked  toward  God  alone. 

409 


4io  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


THE  RIGHT  USE  OF  PRAYER 
Sir  Aubrey  de  Vere 

Therefore,  when  thou  wouldst  pray,  or  dost  thine  alms, 
Blow  not  a  trump  before  thee :  Hypocrites 
Do  thus,  vaingloriously ;  the  common  streets 
Boast  of  their  largess,  echoing  their  psalms. 

On  such  the  laud  of  men,  like  unctuous  balms, 

Falls  with  sweet  savor.  Impious  Counterfeits  ! 

Prating  of  heaven,  for  earth  their  bosom  beats ! 
Grasping  at  weeds,  they  lose  immortal  palms ! 

God  needs  not  iteration  nor  vain  cries : 

That  man  communion  with  his  God  might  share 
Below,  Christ  gave  the  ordinance  of  prayer : 

Vague  ambages,  and  witless  ecstasies, 

Avail  not :  ere  a  voice  to  prayer  be  given 

The  heart  should  rise  on  wings  of  love  to  heaven. 


WHAT  IS  PRAYER? 

James  Montgomery 

Prayer  is  the  soul’s  sincere  desire, 
Uttered  or  unexpressed — 

The  motion  of  a  hidden  fire, 

That  kindles  in  the  breast. 

Prayer  is  the  burthen  of  a  sigh, 

The  falling  of  a  tear — 

The  upward  glancing  of  an  eye, 

•  When  none  but  God  is  near. 

Prayer  is  the  simplest  form  of  speech 
That  infant  lips  can  try — 

Prayer  the  sublimest  strains  that  reach 
The  majesty  on  high. 


PRAYERS 


Prayer  is  the  contrite  sinner’s  voice 
Returning  from  his  ways, 

While  angels  in  their  songs  rejoice, 

And  cry,  “Behold!  He  prays!” 

Prayer  is  the  Christian’s  vital  breath — 
The  Christian’s  native  air — - 

His  watchword  at  the  gates  of  death — 
He  enters  heaven  with  prayer. 

The  saints  in  prayer  appear  as  one 
In  words  and  deed  and  mind, 

Where  with  the  Father  and  the  Son 
Sweet  fellowship  they  find. 

Nor  prayer  is  made  by  man  alone — 

The  holy  spirit  pleads — 

And  Jesus,  on  the  eternal  throne, 

For  sinners  intercedes. 

O  Thou  by  whom  we  come  to  God— 
The  Life,  the  Truth,  the  Way! 

The  path  of  prayer  Thyself  hast  trod; 
Lord,  teach  us  how  to  pray ! 


GOD  PRAYS 
Angela  Morgan 

Last  night  I  tossed  and  could  not  sleep 
When  sodden  heavens  weep  and  weep, 
As  they  have  wept  for  many  a  day, 
One  lies  awake  to  fear  and  pray, 

One  thinks  of  bodies  blown  like  hail 
Across  the  sky  where  angels  quail; 
One’s  sickened  pulses  leap  and  hark 
To  hear  the  horror  in  the  dark. 

What  is  thy  will  for  the  people,  God? 
Thy  will  for  the  people,  tell  it  me ! 


THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


For  war  is  swallowing  up  the  sod 
And  still  no  help  from  Thee, 

Thou,  who  art  mighty,  hast  forgot; 

And  art  Thou  God,  or  art  Thou  not? 

When  wilt  Thou  come  to  save  the  earth 
Where  death  has  conquered  birth? 

And  the  Lord  God  whispered  and  said  to  me, 

“These  things  shall  be,  these  things  shall  be, 

Nor  help  shall  come  from  the  scarlet  skies, 

Till  the  people  rise! 

Till  the  people  rise,  my  arm  is  weak; 

I  cannot  speak  till  the  people  speak; 

When  men  are  dumb,  my  voice  is  dumb — 

I  cannot  come  till  my  people  come.” 

And  the  Lord  God’s  presence  was  white,  so  white, 
Like  a  pillar  of  stars  against  the  night, 

“Millions  on  millions  pray  to  me 
Yet  hearken  not  to  hear  me  pray; 

Nor  comes  there  any  to  set  me  free 
Of  all  who  plead  from  night  to  day. 

So  God  is  mute  and  Heaven  is  still 
While  the  nations  kill.” 

“Thy  people  have  travailed  much,”  I  cried, 

“I  travail  even  as  they,”  God  sighed. 

“I  have  cradled  their  woe  since  the  stars  were  young- 
My  infant  planets  were  scarcely  hung 
When  I  dreamed  the  dream  of  my  liberty 
And  planned  a  people  to  utter  me. 

I  am  the  pang  of  their  discontent, 

The  passion  of  their  long  lament; 

I  am  the  purpose  of  their  pain, 

I  writhe  beneath  their  chain.” 

“But  Thou  art  mighty,  and  needst  no  aid. 

Can  God,  the  Infinite,  be  afraid?” 

“They,  too,  are  God,  yet  know  it  not. 

'Tis  they,  not  I,  who  have  forgot. 

And  war  is  drinking  the  living  sod,” 

Said  God. 


PRAYERS 


413 


“Thy  people  are  fettered  by  iron  laws 
And  each  must  follow  a  country’s  cause 
And  all  are  sworn  to  avenge  their  dead 
How  may  the  people  rise  ?”  I  said. 

And  then  God’s  face !  It  was  white,  so  white, 
With  the  grief  that  sorroweth  day  and  night. 

“Think  you  I  planted  my  image  there 
That  men  should  trample  it  to  despair? 

Who  fears  the  throe  that  rebellion  brings?’* 
“Help  them  stand,  O  Christ !”  I  prayed. 

Thy  people  are  feeble  and  sore  afraid.” 

“My  people  are  strong,”  God  whispered  me, 
“Broad  as  the  land,  great  as  the  sea; 

They  will  tower  as  tall  as  the  tallest  skies 
Up  to  the  level  of  my  eyes, 

When  they  dare  to  rise. 

Yea,  all  my  people  every  where ! 

Not  in  one  land  of  black  despair 
But  over  the  flaming  earth  and  sea 
Wherever  wrong  and  oppression  be 
The  shout  of  my  people  must  come  to  me. 

Not  till  their  spirit  break  the  curse 
May  I  claim  my  own  in  the  universe ; 

And  this  the  reason  of  war  and  blood 
That  men  may  come  to  their  angelhood. 

If  the  people  rise,  if  the  people  rise, 

I  will  answer  them  from  the  swarming  skies. 
Where  Herculean  hosts  of  night 
Shall  spring  to  splendor  over  night, 

Blazing  systems  of  sun  and  star 
Are  not  so  great  as  my  people  are, 

Nor  chanting  angels  so  sweet  to  hear 
As  the  voice  of  nations,  freed  from  fear. 

They  are  my  mouth,  my  breath,  my  soul ! 

I  wait  their  summons  to  make  me  whole.’* 

All  night  long  I  toss  and  cannot  sleep; 

When  shattered  heavens  weep  and  weep,, 

As  they  have  wept  for  many  days. 

I  know  at  last  ’tis  God  who  prays. 


414  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


ENVOI 

John  G.  Neihardt 

Oh,  seek  me  not  within  a  tomb — 

Thou  shalt  not  find  me  in  the  clay ! 

I  pierce  a  little  wall  of  gloom 
To  mingle  with  the  day ! 

I  brothered  with  the  things  that  pass, 
Poor  giddy  joy  and  puckered  grief; 

I  go  to  brother  with  the  grass 
And  with  the  sunning  leaf. 

Not  death  can  sheathe  me  in  a  shroud; 
A  joy-sword  whetted  keen  with  pain, 

I  join  the  armies  of  the  cloud, 

The  lightning  and  the  rain. 

Oh,  subtle  in  the  sap  a-thrill, 

Athletic  in  the  glad  uplift, 

A  portion  of  the  cosmic  will, 

I  pierced  the  planet-drift. 

My  God  and  I  shall  interknit 

As  rain  and  ocean,  breath  and  air; 

And,  oh,  the  luring  thought  of  it 
Is  prayer ! 


PRAYER 
Alfred  Tennyson 
From  Idylls  of  the  King 

Pray  for  my  soul.  More  things  are  wrought  by  prayer 
Than  this  world  dreams  of.  Wherefore  let  thy  voice 
Rise  like  a  fountain  for  me  night  and  day. 

For  what  are  men  better  than  sheep  or  goats 


PRAYERS 


415 


That  nourish  a  blind  life  within  the  brain, 

If,  knowing  God,  they  lift  not  hands  of  prayer 
Both  for  themselves  and  those  who  call  them  friends? 
For  so  the  whole  round  earth  is  every  way 
Bound  by  gold  chains  about  the  feet  of  God. 


A  FAR  CRY  TO  HEAVEN 
Edith  M.  Thomas 

What!  dost  thou  pray  that  the  outgone  tide  be  rolled  back  on 
the  strand, 

The  flame  be  rekindled  that  mounted  away  from  the  smoul¬ 
dering  brand, 

The  past-summer  harvest  flow  golden  through  stubble-lands 
naked  and  sere, 

The  winter-gray  woods  upgather  and  quicken  the  leaves  of  last 
year  ? — 

Thy  prayers  are  as  clouds  in  a  drouth;  regardless,  unfruitful, 
they  roll ; 

For  this,  that  thou  prayest  vain  things,  ’tis  a  far  cry  to  Heaven, 
nry  soul, — 

Oh,  a  far  cry  to  Heaven ! 

Thou  dreamest  the  word  shall  return,  shot  arrow-like  into  the 
air, 

The  wound  in  the  breast  where  it  lodged  be  balmed  and  closed 
for  thy  prayer, 

The  ear  of  the  dead  be  unsealed,  till  thou  whisper  a  boon  once 
denied, 

The  white  hour  of  life  be  restored,  that  passed  thee  unprized, 
undescribed ! — 

Thy  prayers  are  as  runners  that  faint,  that  fail,  within  sight 
of  the  goal, 

For  this,  that  thou  cravest  fond  things,  ’tis  a  far  cry  to  Heaven, 
my  soul, 

Oh,  a  far  cry  to  Heaven ! 

And  cravest  thou  fondly  the  quivering  sands  shall  be  firm  to 
thy  feet, 


4i6  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

The  brackish  pool  of  the  waste  to  thy  lips  be  made  wholesome 
and  sweet? 

And  cravest  thou  subtly  the  bane  thou  desirest  be  wrought  to 
thy  good, 

As  forth  from  a  poisonous  flower  a  bee  convoyeth  safe  food? 

For  this,  that  thou  prayest  ill  things,  thy  prayers  are  an  anger- 
rent  scroll, 

The  chamber  of  audit  is  closed, — ’tis  a  far  cry  to  Heaven,  my 
soul, — 

Oh,  a  far  cry  to  Heaven ! 


PRAYER 

Richard  C.  Trench 

Lord,  what  a  change  within  us  one  short  hour 
Spent  in  Thy  presence  will  avail  to  make ! 

What  heavy  burdens  from  our  bosoms  take ! 

What  parched  grounds  refresh  as  with  a  shower ! 
We  kneel,  and  all  around  us  seems  to  lower; 

We  rise,  and  all,  the  distant  and  the  near, 

Stands  forth  in  sunny  outline,  brave  and  clear; 
We  kneel,  how  weak!  we  rise,  how  full  of  power! 
Why,  therefore,  should  we  do  ourselves  this  wrong, 
Or  others — that  we  are  not  always  strong — 

That  we  are  sometimes  overborne  with  care — 
That  we  should  ever  weak  or  heartless  be, 
Anxious  or  troubled — when  with  us  is  prayer, 

And  joy  and  strength  and  courage  are  with  Thee? 


PRAYER 

Thomas  Washbourne 

What  a  commanding  power 
There  is  in  prayer !  which  can  tower 
As  high  as  heaven,  and  tie  the  hands 
Of  God  Himself  in  bands, 


PRAYERS 


4i7 


That  He  unable  is  to  loose  the  reins 
To  Justice,  till  released  from  these  chains ! 
Samson  could  break  his  cords 
As  tow,  and  yet  the  Lord  of  Lords 
Who  gave  that  strength  to  Samson,  can  not 
Break  the  cords  of  Man. 


BARTER 

Margaret  Widdemer 
If  in  that  secret  place 

Where  thou  has  cherished  it,  there  yet  is  lying 
Thy  dearest  bitterness,  thy  fondest  sin, 

Though  thou  hast  guarded  it  with  hurt  and  crying 
Lift  now  thy  face 

Unlock  the  bolted  door  and  let  God  in 
And  lay  it  in  his  holy  hands  to  take : 

How  such  an  evil  gift  can  please  Him  so 
I  do  not  know, 

But,  keeping  it  for  wages,  he  shall  make 
Thy  foul  room  sweet  for  thee  with  blowing  wind 
(He  is  so  serviceable  and  so  kind) 

And  set  sweet  water  for  thy  thirst’s  distress 
Instead  of  what  thou  hadst  of  bitterness; 

And  he  shall  bend  and  spread 

Green  balsam  boughs  to  make  a  springing  bed 

Where  thine  own  thorns  pricked  in ; 

Who  would  not  pay  away  his  dearest  sin 
To  let  such  service  in? 


418  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


UNANSWERED  PRAYERS 

Ella  Wheeler  Wilcox 

Like  some  school  master,  kind  in  being  stern, 

Who  hears  the  children  crying  o’er  their  slates 
And  calling,  “Help  me,  master!”  yet  helps  not, 
Since  in  his  silence  and  refusal  lies 
Their  self-development,  so  God  abides 
Unheeding  many  prayers.  He  is  not  deaf 
To  any  cry  sent  up  from  earnest  hearts; 

He  hears  and  strengthens  when  he  must  deny. 

He  sees  us  weeping  o’er  life’s  hard  sums, 

But  should  he  give  the  key  and  dry  our  tears, 

What  would  it  profit  us  when  school  were  done 
And  not  one  lesson  mastered? 

What  a  world 

Were  this  if  all  our  prayers  were  answered.  Not 
In  famed  Pandora’s  box  were  such  vast  ills 
As  lie  in  human  hearts.  Should  our  desires, 

Voiced  one  by  one  in  prayer,  ascend  to  God 
And  come  back  as  events  shaped  to  our  wish, 

What  Chaos  would  result ! 

In  my  fierce  youth 
I  sighed  out  breath  enough  to  move  a  fleet, 

Voicing  wild  prayers  to  heaven  for  fancied  boons 

Which  were  denied ;  and  that  denial  bends 

My  knee  to  prayers  of  gratitude  each  day 

Of  my  maturer  years.  Yet  from  those  prayers 

I  rose  always  regirded  for  the  strife 

And  conscious  of  new  strength.  Pray  on,  sad  heart, 

That  which  thou  pleadest  for  may  not  be  given, 

But  in  the  lofty  attitude  where  souls 
Who  supplicate  God’s  grace  are  lifted,  there 
Thou  shalt  find  help  to  bear  thy  daily  lot 
Which  is  not  elsewhere  found. 


PRAYERS 


GENERAL  PRAYERS 


DESIRE 

Matthew  Arnold 

Thou,  who  dost  dwell  alone; 

Thou,  who  dost  know  thine  own. 

Thou,  to  whom  all  are  known, 

From  the  cradle  to  the  grave, — 

Save,  O  Save ! 

From  the  world’s  temptations, 

From  tribulations, 

From  that  fierce  anguish 
Wherein  we  languish, 

From  that  torpor  deep 
Wherein  we  lie  asleep, 

Heavy  as  death,  cold  as  the  grave,—; 
Save,  O  Save ! 

When  the  soul,  growing  clearer, 

Sees  God  no  nearer; 

When  the  soul,  mounting  higher. 

To  God  comes  no  nigher; 

But  the  arch-fiend  Pride 
Mounts  at  her  side, 

Foiling  her  high  emprise, 

Sealing  her  eagle  eyes, 

And  when  she  fain  would  soar, 

Makes  idols  to  adore, 

Changing  the  pure  emotion 
Of  her  high  devotion 
To  a  skin-deep  sense 
Of  her  own  eloquence; 

Strong  to  deceive,  strong  to  enslave, — 
Save,  O  Save ! 


420  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

From  the  ingrained  fashion 
Of  this  earthly  nature 
That  mars  thy  creature ; 

From  grief  that  is  but  passion, 

From  mirth  that  is  but  feigning, 

From  tears  that  bring  no  healing, 

From  wild  and  weak  complaining, — 

Thine  old  strength  revealing, 

Save,  O  Save ! 

From  doubt,  where  all  is  double, 

Where  wise  men  are  not  strong, 

Where  comfort  turns  to  trouble, 

Where  just  men  suffer  wrong; 

Where  sorrow  treads  on  joy, 

Where  sweet  things  soonest  cloy, 

Where  faiths  are  built  on  dust, 

Where  love  is  half  mistrust, 

Hungry  and  barren,  and  sharp  as  the  sea — 

O  set  us  free  ! 

O  let  the  false  dream  fly 
Where  our  sick  souls  do  lie 
Tossing  continually ! 

O  where  thy  voice  doth  come 
Let  all  doubts  be  dumb, 

Let  all  words  be  mild, 

All  strifes  be  reconciled, 

All  pains  beguiled ! 

Light  bring  no  blindness, 

Love  no  unkindness, 

Knowledge  no  ruin, 

F ear  no  undoing  ! 

From  the  cradle  to  the  grave, — ■ 

Save,  O  Save ! 


PRAYERS 


421 


PAGAN  PRAYER 

Alice  Brown 

You  that  uphold  the  world 
Uphold  me. 

You  that  light  the  sun, 

Make  me  see, 

Bear  with  me  my  sorrow : 

Help  me  meet  the  morrow, 
Patiently. 

O’er  the  road  we  may  know  not 
To  end  we  must  fear  not, 
Guide  us,  O  mighty  One ! 
March  with  us,  heroes ! 


THE  LARGER  PRAYER 

Ednah  D.  Cheney 

At  first  I  prayed  for  Sight : 

Could  I  but  see  the  way, 

How  gladly,  swiftly  would  I  walk 
To  everlasting  day ! 

And  next  I  prayed  for  Strength : 

That  I  might  tread  the  road 
With  firm,  unfaltering  feet,  and  win 
The  heaven’s  serene  abode. 

And  then  I  asked  for  Faith: 

Could  I  but  trust  my  God, 

I’d  live  enfolded  in  His  peace, 
Though  foes  were  all  abroad. 

But  now  I  pray  for  Love : 

Deep  love  to  God  and  man 
A  living  love  that  will  not  fail, 
However  dark  his  plan. 


422  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

And  Light  and  Strength  and  Faith 
Are  opening  everywhere, 

God  waited  for  me  till 
I  prayed  the  larger  prayer. 


PRAYER 

Thomas  Ell  wood 

Oh !  that  mine  eye  might  closed  be 
To  what  concerns  not  me  to  see ; 

That  deafness  might  possess  my  ear 
To  what  concerns  not  me  to  hear: 

That  truth  my  tongue  might  ever  tie 
From  speaking  words  of  vanity: 

That  no  vain  thought  might  ever  rest 
Or  be  conceived  within  my  breast ; 

So  that  in  deed  and  word  and  thought, 
Glory  may  unto  God  be  wrought. 

But  what  are  wishes?  Lord,  mine  eye 
Is  fixed  on  Thee,  to  Thee  I  cry ! 
Cleanse,  Lord,  and  purify  my  heart 
And  make  it  clean  in  every  part; 

And  when  *tis  pure,  Lord  keep  it  so, 
For  that  is  more  than  I  can  do. 


GIFTS 

f 

Emma  Lazarus 

“O  World-God,  give  me  Wealth!”  the  Egyptian  cried. 
His  prayer  was  granted.  High  as  heaven,  behold 
Palace  and  pyramid;  the  brimming  tide 
Of  lavish  Nile  washed  all  his  land  with  gold. 

Armies  of  slaves  toiled  ant-wise  at  his  feet, 
World-circling  traffic  roared  through  mart  and  street, 
His  priests  were  gods,  his  spice-balmed  kings  enshrined, 
Set  death  at  nought  in  rock-ribbed  charnels  deep. 


PRAYERS 


423 


Seek  Pharaoh’s  race  today  and  ye  shall  find 
Rust  and  the  moth,  1  silence  and  dusty  sleep. 

“O  World-God,  give  me  beauty !”  cried  the  Greek. 

His  prayer  was  granted.  All  the  earth  became 
Plastic  and  vocal  to  his  sense;  each  peak, 

Each  grove,  each  stream,  quick  with  Promethean  flame, 
Peopled  the  world  with  imaged  grace  and  light. 

The  lyre  was  his,  and  his  the  breathing  might 
Of  the  immortal  marble,  his  the  play 
Of  diamond-pointed  thought  and  golden  tongue. 

Go  seek  the  sunshine  race.  Ye  find  today 
A  broken  column  and  a  lute  unstrung. 

uO  World-God,  give  me  Power  !”  the  Roman  cried. 

His  prayer  was  granted.  The  vast  world  was  chained 
A  captive  to  the  chariot  of  his  pride. 

The  blood  of  myriad  provinces  was  drained 
To  feed  that  fierce,  insatiable  red  heart. 

Invulnerably  bulwarked  every  part 

With  serried  legions  and  with  close-meshed  Code. 

Within,  the  burrowing  worm  had  gnawed  its  home, 

A  roofless  ruin  stands  where  once  abode 
The  imperial  race  of  everlasting  Rome. 

“O  Godhead,  give  me  Truth!”  the  Hebrew  cried. 

His  prayer  was  granted;  he  became  the  slave 
Of  the  Idea,  a  pilgrim  far  and  wide, 

Cursed,  hated,  spurned,  and  scourged  with  none  to  save. 
The  Pharaohs  knew  him,  and  when  Greece  beheld, 

His  wisdom  wore  the  hoary  crown  of  Eld. 

Beauty  he  hath  forsworn,  and  wealth  and  power. 

Seek  him  today,  and  find  in  every  land. 

No  fire  consumes  him,  neither  floods  devour; 

Immortal  through  the  lamp  within  his  hand. 


424  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


THE  POET’S  PRAYER 
Stephen  Philipps 

That  I  have  felt  the  rushing  wind  of  Thee : 

That  I  have  run  before  thy  blast  to  sea; 

That  my  one  moment  of  transcendent  strife 
Is  more  than  many  years  of  listless  life; 

Beautiful  Power,  I  praise  Thee :  yet  I  send 
A  prayer  that  sudden  strength  be  not  the  end. 

Desert  me  not  when  from  my  flagging  sails 
Thy  breathing  dies  away,  and  virtue  fails : 

When  Thou  hast  spent  the  glory  of  that  gust, 
Remember  still  the  body  of  this  dust. 

Not  then  when  I  am  boundless,  without  bars, 

When  I  am  rapt  in  hurry  to  the  stars; 

When  I  anticipate  an  endless  bliss, 

And  feel  before  my  time  the  final  kiss, 

Not  then  I  need  Thee :  for  delight  is  wise, 

I  err  not  in  the  freedom  of  the  skies ; 

I  fear  not  joy,  so  joy  might  ever  be, 

And  rapture  finish  in  felicity. 

But  when  Thy  joy  is  past,  comes  in  the  test, 

To  front  the  life  that  lingers  after  zest: 

To  live  in  mere  negation  of  Thy  light, 

A  more  than  blindness  after  more  than  sight. 

’Tis  not  in  flesh  so  swiftly  to  descend,  * 

And  sudden  from  the  spheres  with  earth  to  blend; 

And  I,  from  splendour  thrown,  and  dashed  from  dream, 
Into  the  flare  pursue  the  former  gleam. 

Sustain  me  in  that  hour  with  Thy  left  hand, 

And  aid  me,  when  I  cease  to  soar,  to  stand; 

Make  me  Thy  athlete  even  in  my  bed, 

Thy  girded  runner  though  the  course  be  sped; 

Still  to  refrain  that  I  may  more  bestow, 

From  sternness  to  a  larger  sweetness  grow. 

I  ask  not  that  false  calm  which  many  feign, 

And  call  that  peace  which  is  a  dearth  of  pain. 

True  calm  doth  quiver  like  the  calmest  star; 


PRAYERS 


425 


It  is  that  white  where  all  the  colours  are*, 

And  for  its  very  vestibule  doth  own 
The  tree  of  Jesus  and  the  pyre  of  Joan. 
Thither  I  press :  but  O  do  Thou  meanwhile 
Support  me  in  privations  of  Thy  smile. 

Spaces  Thou  hast  ordained  the  stars  between, 
And  silences  where  melody  hath  been : 

Teach  me  those  absences  of  lire  to  face, 

And  Thee  no  less  in  silence  to  embrace. 

Else  shall  Thy  dreadful  gift  still  people  Hell, 
And  men  not  measure  from  what  height  I  fell. 


THE  UNIVERSAL  PRAYER 
Alexander  Pope 

Father  of  all !  In  every  age, 

In  every  clime  adored, 

By  saint,  by  savage,  and  by  sage, 
Jehovah,  Jove,  or  Lord! 

Thou  Great  First  Cause,  least  understood, 
Who  all  my  sense  confined 

To  know  but  this,  that  thou  art  good, 

And  that  myself  am  blind ! 

Yet  gave  me,  in  this  dark  estate, 

To  see  the  good  from  ill; 

And,  binding  nature  fast  in  fate, 

Left  free  the  human  will. 

What  conscience  dictates  to  be  done, 
Or  warns  me  not  to  do, 

This  teach  me  more  than  hell  to  shun, 
That  more  than  heaven  pursue. 

What  blessings  thy  free  bounty  gives, 
Let  me  not  cast  away ; 

For  God  is  paid  when  man  receives; 
To  enjoy  is  to  obey. 


426  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

Yet  not  to  earth’s  contracted  span 
Thy  goodness  let  me  bound, 

Or  think  thee  Lord  alone  of  man, 

When  thousand  worlds  are  round. 

Let  not  this  weak,  unknowing  hand 
Presume  thy  bolts  to  throw, 

And  deal  damnation  round  the  land 
On  each  I  judge  thy  foe. 

If  I  am  right,  thy  grace  impart 
Still  in  the  right  to  stay; 

If  I  am  wrong,  Oh,  teach  my  heart 
To  find  the  better  way! 

Save  me  alike  from  foolish  pride, 

And  impious  discontent, 

At  aught  thy  wisdom  has  denied, 

Or  aught  thy  goodness  lent. 

Teach  me  to  feel  another’s  woe, 

To  hide  the  fault  I  see ; 

That  mercy  I  to  others  show, 

That  mercy  show  to  me. 

Mean  though  I  am,  not  wholly  so, 

Since  quickened  by  thy  breath; 

Oh,  lead  me  wheresoe’er  I  go, 

Through  this  day’s  life  or  death. 

This  day  be  bread  and  peace  my  lot; 

All  else  beneath  the  sun 

Thou  knowest  if  best  bestowed  or  not, 

And  let  thy  will  be  done. 

To  thee,  whose  temple  is  all  space, — 

Whose  altar,  earth,  sea,  skies, — 

One  chorus  let  all  beings  raise ! 

All  Nature’s  incense  rise ! 


PRAYERS 


427 


A  LITANY  FOR  LATTER-DAY  MYSTICS 
Cale  Young  Rice 

Out  of  the  Vastness  that  is  God 
I  summon  the  power  to  heal  me. 

It  comes  with  peace  ineffable 
And  patience,  to  anneal  me. 

Ajar  I  set  my  soul-doors 
Toward  unbounded  Life 

And  let  the  infinitudes  of  it 
Flow  through  me,  vigour-rife. 

Out  of  the  Vastness  that  is  God 
I  summon  the  power  to  still  me. 

It  comes  from  inner  deeps  divine 
With  destinies  that  thrill  me; 

It  follows  the  hush  of  every  wrong; 

And  every  vain  unrest 

It  banishes;  and  leaves  a  bliss 
Before  all  unpossessed. 

Out  of  the  Vastness  that  is  God 
I  summon  the  strength  to  keep  me, 

And  from  all  fleshly  fears  that  fret 
With  spirit-winds  to  sweep  me. 

I  summon  the  faith  that  puts  to  flight 
All  impotence  and  ills, 

And  that,  thro’  the  wide  universe, 
Well-being’s  breath  distills. 


THE  FOOL’S  PRAYER 

Edward  Rowland  Sill 

The  royal  feast  was  done ;  the  king 

Sought  some  new  sport  to  banish  care, 
And  to  his  jester  cried:  “Sir  Fool, 

Kneel  now,  and  make  for  us  a  prayer !” 


428  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


The  jester  doffed  his  cap  and  bells, 

And  stood  the  mocking  court  before; 

They  could  not  see  the  bitter  smile 
Behind  the  painted  grin  he  wore. 

He  bowed  his  head,  and  bent  his  knee 
Upon  the  monarch’s  silken  stool ; 

His  pleading  voice  arose:  “O  Lord, 

Be  merciful  to  me,  a  fool ! 

“No  pity,  Lord,  could  change  the  heart 
From  red  with  wrong,  to  white  as  wool; 

The  rod  must  heal  the  sin;  but,  Lord, 

Be  merciful  to  me,  a  fool ! 

“  ’Tis  not  by  guilt  the  onward  sweep 
Of  truth  and  right,  O  Lord,  we  stay; 

’Tis  by  our  follies  that  so  long 

We  hold  the  earth  from  heaven  away. 

“These  clumsy  feet,  still  in  the  mire, 

Go  crushing  blossoms  without  end; 

These  hard,  well-meaning  hands  we  thrust 
Among  the  heart-strings  of  a  friend. 

“The  ill-timed  truth  we  might  have  kept — 
Who  knows  how  sharp  it  pierced  and  stung  t 

The  word  we  had  not  sense  to  say — 

Who  knows  how  grandly  it  had  rung? 

“Our  faults  no  tenderness  should  ask, 

The  chastening  stripes  must  cleanse  them  all 

But  for  our  blunders — oh,  in  shame 
Before  the  eyes  of  heaven  we  fall. 

“Earth  bears  no  balsam  for  mistakes; 

Men  crown  the  knave,  and  scourge  the  tool 

That  did  his  will ;  but  Thou,  O  Lord, 

Be  merciful  to  me,  a  fool !” 


PRAYERS 


429 


The  room  was  hushed;  in  silence  rose 
The  King,  and  sought  his  gardens  cool, 
And  walked  apart,  and  murmured  low, 
“Be  merciful  to  me,  a  fool !” 


PRAYER 

Henry  van  Dyke 

These  are  the  gifts  I  ask  of  thee, 

Spirit  serene — 

Strength  for  the  daily  task; 

Courage  to  face  the  road; 

Good  cheer  to  help  me  bear  the  traveller’s  load; 

And  for  the  hours  of  rest  that  come  between, 

An  inward  joy  in  all  things  heard  and  seen. 

These  are  the  sins  I  fain  would  have  thee  take  away — 
Malice  and  cold  disdain; 

Hot  anger,  sullen  hate; 

Scorn  of  the  lowly,  envy  of  the  great; 

And  discontent  that  casts  a  shadow  gray 
On  all  the  brightness  of  a  common  day. 


A  CONFESSION 

Paul  Verlaine 

Translated  by  Arthur  Symons 

O  my  God,  thou  hast  wounded  me  with  love, 
Behold  the  wound  that  is  still  vibrating, 

O  my  God,  thou  hast  wounded  me  with  love. 

O  my  God,  thy  fear  hath  fallen  upon  me, 
Behold  the  burn  is  there,  and  it  throbs  aloud. 
O  my  God,  thy  fear  hath  fallen  upon  me, 


430  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


O  my  God,  I  have  known  all  that  is  vile, 

And  thy  glory  hath  stationed  itself  in  me, 

O  my  God,  I  have  known  all  that  is  vile. 

Drown  my  soul  in  floods,  floods  of  thy  wine, 

Mingle  my  life  with  the  body  of  thy  bread. 

Drown  my  soul  in  floods,  floods  of  thy  wine. 

Take  my  blood  that  I  have  not  poured  out, 

Take  my  flesh  unworthy  of  thy  suffering, 

Take  my  blood  that  I  have  not  poured  out. 

Take  my  brow  that  has  only  learned  to  blush, 

To  be  the  footstool  of  thine  adorable  feet, 

Take  my  brow  that  has  only  learned  to  blush. 

Take  my  hands  because  they  have  labored  not. 

For  coals  of  fire  and  for  rare  frankincense, 

Take  my  hands  because  they  have  labored  not. 

Take  my  heart  that  has  beaten  for  vain  things, 

To  throb  under  the  thorns  of  Calvary, 

Take  my  heart  that  has  beaten  for  vain  things. 

Take  my  feet,  frivolous  travellers, 

That  they  may  run  to  the  crying  of  thy  grace, 

Take  my  feet,  foolish  travellers. 

Take  my  voice,  a  harsh  and  lying  noise, 

For  the  reproaches  of  thy  penitence, 

Take  my  voice,  a  harsh  and  lying  noise. 

Take  mine  eyes,  luminaries  of  deceit, 

That  they  may  be  extinguished  in  the  tears  of  prayer, 
Take  mine  eyes,  luminaries  of  deceit. 

Ah,  thou  God  of  pardon  and  promises, 

What  is  the  pit  of  mine  ingratitude ! 

Ah,  thou  God  of  pardon  and  promises. 


PRAYERS 


43i 


God  of  terror  and  God  of  holiness, 

Alas,  my  sinfulness  is  a  black  abyss, 
God  of  terror  and  holiness. 

Thou  God  of  peace,  of  joy  and  delight, 
All  my  tears,  all  my  ignorances, 

Thou  God  of  peace,  of  joy  and  delight. 

Thou,  O  God,  knowest  all  this,  all  this, 
How  poor  I  am,  poorer  than  any  man, 
Thou,  O  God,  knowest  all  this,  all  this. 

And  what  I  have,  my  God,  I  give  to  thee. 


C.  PRAYERS  OF  INVOCATION 


VENI  CREATOR 
Bliss  Carman 

I 

Lord  of  the  grass  and  hill, 

Lord  of  the  rain, 

White  Overlord  of  will, 

Master  of  pain, 

I  who  am  dust  and  air 

Blown  through  the  halls  of  deaths 

Like  a  pale  ghost  of  prayer, — 

I  am  thy  breath. 

Lord  of  the  blade  and  leaf, 

Lord  of  the  bloom, 

Sheer  Overlord  of  grief, 

Master  of  doom, 


THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


Lonely  as  wind  or  snow, 

Through  the  vague  world  and  dim, 
Vagrant  and  glad  I  go; 

I  am  thy  whim. 

Lord  of  the  storm  and  lull, 

Lord  of  the  sea, 

I  am  thy  broken  gull, 

Blown  far  alee. 

Lord  of  the  harvest  dew, 

Lord  of  the  dawn, 

Star  of  the  paling  blue 
Darkling  and  gone, 

Lost  on  the  mountain  height 
Where  the  first  winds  are  stirred, 
Out  of  the  wells  of  night 
I  am  thy  word. 

Lord  of  the  haunted  hush, 

Where  raptures  throng, 

I  am  thy  hermit  thrush, 

Ending  no  song. 

Lord  of  the  frost  and  cold, 

Lord  of  the  North, 

When  the  red  sun  grows  old 
And  day  goes  forth, 

I  shall  put  off  this  girth, — 

Go  glad  and  free, 

Earth  to  my  mother  earth, 

Spirit  to  thee. 


II 

Lord  of  my  heart’s  elation, 
Spirit  of  things  unseen, 

Be  thou  my  aspiration 
Consuming  and  serene  ! 


PRAYERS 


433 


Bear  up,  bear  out,  bear  onward 
This  mortal  soul  alone, 

To  selfhood  or  oblivion, 
Incredibly  thine  own, — 

As  the  foamheads  are  loosened 
And  blown  along  the  sea, 

Or  sink  and  merge  forever 
In  that  which  bids  them  be. 


HYMN  TO  ZEUS 
Cleanthes  (From  the  Greek) 

Translated  by  Plumptre 

Most  glorious  of  all  the  Undying,  many-named,  girt  round  with 
awe ! 

Jove,  author  of  Nature,  applying  to  all  things  the  rudder  of 
law, — 

Hail!  Hail!  For  it  justly  rejoices  the  races  whose  life  is  a 
span 

To  lift  unto  thee  their  voices — the  Author  and  Framer  of  man. 

For  we  are  thy  sons;  thou  didst  give  us  the  symbols  of  speech 
at  our  birth, 

Alone  of  all  the  things  that  live  and  mortal  move  upon  earth. 

Wherefore  thou  shalt  find  me  extolling  and  ever  singing  thy 
praise ; 

Since  thee  the  great  Universe,  rolling  on  its  path  round  the 
world,  obeys — 

Obeys  thee,  wherever  thou  guidest,  and  gladly  is  bound  in  thy 
hands, 

So  great  is  the  power  thou  confidest,  with  strong,  invincible 
hands, 

To  thy  mighty  ministering  servant,  the  bolt  of  the  thunder,  that 
flies 

Two-edged,  like  a  sword,  and  fervent,  that  is  living  and  never 
dies. 

All  nature,  in  fear  and  dismay,  doth  quake  in  the  path  of  its 
stroke, 


434  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

What  time  thou  preparest  the  way  for  the  one  Word  thy  lips 
have  spoke, 

Which  blends  with  lights  smaller  and  greater,  which  pervadeth 
and  thrilleth  all  things. 

So  great  is  thy  power  and  thy  nature — in  the  Universe  Highest 
of  Kings ! 

On  earth,  of  all  deeds  that  are  done,  O  God !  there  is  none 
without  thee ; 

In  the  holy  ether  not  one,  nor  one  on  the  face  of  the  sea ; 

Save  the  deeds  that  evil  men,  driven  by  their  own  blind  folly 
have  planned; 

But  things  that  have  grown  uneven  are  made  even  again  by 
thy  hand ; 

And  things  unseemly  grow  seemly,  the  unfriendly  are  friendly 
to  thee; 

For  no  good  and  evil  supremely  thou  hast  blended  in  one  by 
decree. 

For  all  thy  decree  is  one,  ever, — a  word  that  endureth  for 
aye, 

Which  mortals,  rebellious,  endeavor  to  flee  from  and  shun  to 
obey — 

Ill-fated,  that,  worn  with  proneness  for  the  lordship  of  all 
goodly  things, 

Neither  hear  nor  behold,  in  its  oneness,  the  law  that  divinity 
brings ; 

Which  men  with  reason  obeying,  might  attain  unto  glorious  life, 

No  longer  aimlessly  straying  in  the  paths  of  ignoble  strife. 

There  are  men  with  a  zeal,  unblest,  that  are  wearied  with 
following  fame, 

And  men  with  a  baser  quest,  that  are  turned  to  lucre  and  shame, 

There  are  men,  too,  that  pamper  and  pleasure  the  flesh  with 
delicate  stings; 

All  these  desire  beyond  measure  to  be  other  than  all  these 
things. 

Great  Jove,  all-giver,  dark-clouded,  great  Lord  of  the  thunder¬ 
bolt’s  breath ! 

Deliver  the  men  that  are  shrouded  in  ignorance  dismal  as  death. 

O  father,  dispel  from  their  souls  the  darkness,  and  grant  them 
the  light 


PRAYERS 


Of  reason,  thy  stay,  when  the  whole  wide  world  thou  rulest 
with  might, 

That  we,  being  honored,  may  honor  thy  name  with  the  music 
of  hymns, 

Exalting  the  deeds  of  the  Donor,  unceasing,  as  rightly 
beseems 

Mankind;  for  no  worthier  trust  is  awarded  to  God  or  to  Man 
Than  forever  to  glory  with  justice  in  the  law  that  endures  and 
is  One. 

O,  THOU  ETERNAL  ONE! 

Derzhavin 

Translated  by  Sir  John  Bowring 

(Secretary  of  State  under  Catherine  II) 

O  Thou  Eternal  One !  whose  presence  bright 
All  space  doth  occupy,  all  motions  guide ; 

Unchanged  through  time’s  all-devastating  flight: 

Thou  only. God!  There  is  no  God  beside! 

Being  of  all  beings !  Mighty  One  ! 

Whom  none  could  comprehend  and  none  explore; 

Who  fillst  existence  with  Thyself  alone : 

Embracing  all,  supporting,  ruling  o’er, — 

Being  whom  we  call  God,  and  know  no  more ! 

In  its  sublime  research  philosophy 
May  measure  out  the  ocean  deeps,  may  count 
The  sands  or  the  sun’s  rays ;  but  God !  for  thee 
There  is  no  weight  nor  measure :  none  can  mount 
Up  to  thy  mysteries.  Reason’s  brightest  spark, 

Though  kindled  by  thy  light,  in  vain  would  try 
To  trace  thy  counsels,  infinite  and  dark; 

And  thought  is  lost  ere  thought  can  soar  so  high, 

Even  like  past  moments  in  eternity. 

Thou  from  primeval  nothingness  didst  call 
First  chaos,  then  existence:  Lord,  on  thee 


436  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

Eternity  had  its  foundation;  all 

Sprung  from  thee, — of  light,  joy,  harmony, 

Sole  origin :  all  life,  all  beauty  thine. 

Thy  word  created  all  and  doth  create; 

Thy  splendor  fills  all  space  with  rays  divine. 

Thou  wert  and  art  and  shalt  be  !  Glorious  !  Great ! 
Light-giving,  life-sustaining  Potentate ! 

Thy  chains  the  unmeasured  universe  surround, 
Upheld  by  thee,  by  thee  inspired  with  breath! 

Thou  the  beginning  with  the  end  hast  bound, 

And  beautifully  mingled  life  and  death! 

As  sparks  mount  upward  from  the  fiery  blaze, 

So  suns  are  born,  so  worlds  spring  forth  from  thee, 
And  as  the  spangles  in  the  sunny  rays 
Shine  round  the  silver  snow,  the  pageantry 
Of  heaven’s  bright  army  glitters  in  thy  praise. 

A  million  torches  lighted  by  thy  hand 
Wander  unwearied  through  the  blue  abyss: 

They  own  thy  power,  accomplish  thy  command, 

All  gay  with  life,  all  eloquent  with  bliss. 

What  shall  we  call  them?  Piles  of  crystal  light, 

A  glorious  company  of  golden  streams, 

Lamps  of  celestial  ether  burning  bright, 

Suns  lighting  systems  with  their  joyous  beams? 

But  thou  to  these  art  as  the  noon  to  night. 

Yes  l  As  a  drop  of  water  in  the  sea, 

All  this  magnificence  in  thee  is  lost : 

What  are  ten  thousand  worlds  compared  to  thee? 
What  am  I,  then?  Heaven’s  unnumbered  host, 
Though  multiplied  by  myriads,  and  arrayed 
In  all  the  glory  of  sublimest  thought, 

Is  but  an  atom  in  the  balance,  weighed 
Against  thy  greatness,  is  a  cipher  brought 
Against  infinity!  Oh,  what  am  I,  then?  Nought! 

Nought,  yet  the  effulgence  of  thy  light  divine, 
Pervading  worlds,  hath  reached  my  bosom,  too; 


PRAYERS 


437 


Yes !  In  my  spirit  doth  thy  spirit  shine, 

As  shines  the  sunbeam  in  a  drop  of  dew. 

Nought!  Yet  I  live,  and  on  hope’s  pinions  fly 
Eager  toward  thy  presence;  for  in  thee 
I  live  and  breathe  and  dwell ;  aspiring  high, 

Even  to  the  throne  of  thy  divinity. 

I  am,  O  God !  and  surely  Thou  must  be ! 

Thou  art !  directing,  guiding  all,  thou  art ! 

Direct  my  understanding,  then,  to  thee; 

Control  my  spirit,  guide  my  wandering  heart : 
Though  but  an  atom  midst  immensity, 

Still  I  am  something,  fashioned  by  thy  hand ! 

I  hold  a  middle  rank  twixt  heaven  and  earth, 

On  the  last  verge  of  mortal  being  stand, 

Close  to  the  realm  where  angels  have  their  birth, 
Just  on  the  boundaries  of  the  spirit  land ! 

The  chain  of  being  is  complete  in  me ; 

In  me  is  matter’s  last  gradation  lost, 

And  the  next  step  is  spirit — Deity ! 

I  can  command  the  lightning  and  am  dust ! 

A  monarch  and  a  slave ;  a  worm,  a  god ! 

Whence  came  I  here  ?  and  how  so  marvellously 
Constructed  and  conceived  ?  Unknown  !  This  clod 
Lives  surely  through  some  higher  energy; 

For  from  itself  alone  it  could  not  be ! 

Creator !  yes,  thy  wisdom  and  thy  word 
Created  me!  Thou  Source  of  life  and  good! 
Thou  Spirit  of  my  Spirit,  and  my  Lord ! 

Thy  light,  thy  love,  in  their  bright  plenitude 
Filled  me  with  an  immortal  soul,  to  spring 
Over  the  abyss  of  death,  and  bade  it  wear 
The  garments  of  eternal  day,  and  wing 
Its  heavenly  flight  beyond  this  little  sphere, 

Even  to  its  source — to  thee — its  Author  there. 

O  thoughts  ineffable  !  O  visions  blest ! 

Though  worthless  our  conceptions  all  of  thee, 


8  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


Yet  shall  thy  shadowed  image  fill  our  breast, 
And  waft  its  homage  to  thy  Deity. 

God!  thus  alone  my  lonely  thoughts  can  soar; 
Thus  seek  thy  presence,  Being  wise  and  good ! 
Midst  thy  vast  works  admire,  obey,  adore ; 
And  when  the  tongue  is  eloquent  no  more, 

The  soul  shall  speak  in  tears  of  gratitude ! 


INVOCATION 
Max  Eastman 

Truth,  be  more  precious  to  me  than  the  eyes 
Of  happy  love;  burn  hotter  in  my  throat 
That  passion,  and  possess  me  like  my  pride; 

More  sweet  than  freedom,  more  desired  than  joy. 
More  sacred  than  the  pleasing  of  a  friend. 


THE  PRAYER 

Alfred  Tennyson 

From  In  Memoriam  CXXXI 

O  living  will  that  shall  endure 

When  all  that  seems  shall  suffer  shock, 
Rise  in  the  spiritual  rock, 

Flow  through  our  deeds  and  make  them  pure, 

That  we  may  lift  from  out  the  dust 
A  voice  as  unto  him  that  hears, 

A  cry  above  the  conquered  years 
To  one  that  with  us  works,  and  trust 

With  faith  that  comes  from  self-control, 

The  truths  that  never  can  be  proved 
Until  we  cfose  with  all  we  loved, 

And  all  we  flow  from,  soul  in  soul. 


PRAYERS 


439 


d.  PRAYERS  FOR  COMFORT  IN  PROSPECT  OF  DEATH 

A  PRAYER  IN  THE  PROSPECT  OF  DEATH 

Robert  Burns 

O  Thou  unknown,  Almighty  Cause 
Of  all  my  hope  and  fear ! 

In  whose  dread  presence,  ere  an  hour, 

Perhaps  I  must  appear ! 

If  I  have  wander’d  in  those  paths 
Of  life  I  ought  to  shun — 

As  something  loudly  in  my  breast. 
Remonstrates  I  have  done — 

Thou  know’st  that  Thou  hast  formed  me 
With  passions  wild  and  strong; 

And  list’ning  to  their  witching  voice 
Has  often  led  me  wrong. 

Where  human  weakness  has  come  short, 

Or  frailty  stept  aside, 

Do  thou,  All-Good — for  such  Thou  art — 

In  shades  of  darkness  hide. 

Where  with  intention  I  have  err’d, 

No  other  plea  I  have, 

But,  Thou  art  good;  and  Goodness  still 
Delighteth  to  forgive. 


PRAYER  BEFORE  EXECUTION 

Mary  Queen  of  Scots 

O  Domine  Deus !  Speravi  in  te, 

O  care  mi  Jesu,  nunc  libera  me ! 

In  dura  catena,  in  misera  poena, 

Desidero  te ! 

Languendo,  gemendo,  et  genuflectendo, 
Adoro,  imploro,  ut  liberes  me ! 


440  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


(Translation  by  John  Fawcett,  1782.) 

O  merciful  Father,  my  hope  is  in  thee ! 

O  gracious  Redeemer,  deliver  thou  me ! 

My  bondage  bemoaning,  with  sorrowful  groaning, 
I  long  to  be  free; 

Lamenting,  relenting,  and  humbly  repenting, 

O  Jesu,  my  Savior,  I  languish  for  thee! 


e .  PRAYERS  FOR  GUIDANCE 

A  PRAYER 

John  Drinkwater 

Lord,  not  for  light  in  darkness  do  we  pray, 

Not  that  the  veil  be  lifted  from  our  eyes, 

Nor  that  the  slow  ascension  of  our  day 
Be  otherwise. 

Not  for  a  clearer  vision  of  the  things 
Whereof  the  fashioning  shall  make  us  great, 

Not  for  remission  of  the  peril  and  stings 
Of  time  and  fate. 

Not  for  a  fuller  knowledge  of  the  end 
Whereto  we  travel,  bruised  yet  unafraid, 

Nor  that  the  little  healing  that  we  lend 
Shall  be  repaid. 

Not  these,  O  Lord.  We  would  not  break  the  bars 
Thy  wisdom  sets  about  us;  we  shall  climb 
Unfetter’d  to  the  secrets  of  the  stars 
In  Thy  good  time. 

We  do  not  crave  the  high  perception  swift 
When  to  refrain  were  well,  and  when  fulfill, 

Nor  yet  the  understanding  strong  to  sift 
The  good  from  ill. 


PRAYERS 


441 


Not  these,  O  Lord.  For  these  Thou  hast  revealed, 
We  know  the  golden  season  when  to  reap 
The  heavy-fruited  treasure  of  the  field, 

The  hour  to  sleep. 

Not  these.  We  know  the  hemlock  from  the  rose, 
The  pure  from  stained,  the  noble  from  the  base, 

The  tranquil  holy  light  of  truth  that  glows 
On  Pity’s  face. 

We  know  the  paths  wherein  our  feet  should  press, 
Across  our  hearts  are  written  Thy  decrees : 

Yet  now,  O  Lord,  be  merciful  to  bless 
With  more  than  these. 

Grant  us  the  will  to  fashion  as  we  feel, 

Grant  us  the  strength  to  labor  as  we  know, 

Grant  us  the  purpose,  ribb’d  and  edg’d  with  steel. 
To  strike  the  blow. 

Knowledge  we  ask  not, — knowledge  Thou  hast  lent, 
But,  Lord,  the  will, — there  lies  our  bitter  need, 

Give  us  to  build  above  the  deep  intent 
The  deed,  the  deed. 


THE  CRY  OF  THE  AGE 

Hamlin  Garland 

What  shall  I  do  to  be  just? 

What  shall  I  do  for  the  gain 
Of  the  world — for  its  sadness? 

Teach  me,  O  Seers  that  I  trust ! 

Chart  me  the  difficult  main 

Leading  me  out  of  my  sorrow  and  madness; 

Preach  me  out  of  the  purging  of  pain. 

Shall  I  wrench  from  my  finger  the  ring 
To  cast  to  the  tramp  at  my  door? 

Shall  I  tear  off  each  luminous  thing 
To  drop  in  the  palm  of  the  poor? 


442 


THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


What  shall  I  do  to  be  just? 

Teach  me,  O  Ye  in  the  light, 

Whom  the  poor  and  the  rich  alike  trust : 
My  heart  is  aflame  to  be  right. 


TWO  PRAYERS 

Charlotte  Perkins  Gilman 

Only  for  these  I  pray, 

Pray  with  assurance  strong; 

Light  to  discover  the  way, 

Power  to  follow  it  long. 

\ 

Let  me  have  light  to  see, 

Light  to  be  sure  and  know, 

When  the  road  is  clear  to  me 
Willingly  I  go. 

Let  me  have  power  to  do, 

Power  of  the  brain  and  nerve, 
Though  the  task  is  heavy  and  new 
Willingly  I  will  serve. 

My  prayers  are  lesser  than  three, 
Nothing  I  pray  but  two; 

Let  me  have  light  to  see, 

Let  me  have  power  to  do. 


THE  ELIXIR 

George  Herbert 

Teach  me,  my  God  and  King, 
In  all  things  thee  to  see; 
And  what  I  do  in  anything, 
To  do  it  as  for  thee. 


PRAYERS 


443 


Not  rudely,  as  a  beast, 

To  run  into  an  action; 

But  still  to  make  thee  prepossessed, 
And  give  it  his  perfection. 

A  man  that  looks  on  glass 
On  it  may  stay  his  eye; 

Or,  if  he  pleaseth,  through  it  pass, 

And  then  the  heaven  espy. 

All  may  of  thee  partake, 

Nothing  can  be  so  mean, 

Which,  with  this  tincture,  for  thy  sake 
Will  not  grow  bright  and  clean. 

A  servant  with  this  clause, 

Makes  drudgery  divine; 

Who  sweeps  a  room  as  for  thy  laws, 
Makes  that,  and  the  action,  fine. 

This  is  the  famous  stone 
That  turneth  all  to  gold; 

For  that  which  God  doth  touch  and  own 
Cannot  for  less  be  told. 


THE  PILLAR  OF  THE  CLOUD 

John  Henry  Newman 

Lead,  kindly  light,  amid  the  encircling  gloom, 
Lead  thou  me  on ! 

The  night  is  dark  and  I  am  far  from  home; 
Lead  thou  me  on ! 

Keep  thou  my  feet;  I  do  not  ask  to  see 
The  distant  scene;  one  step  enough  for  me. 

I  was  not  ever  thus,  nor  prayed  that  thou 
Shouldst  lead  me  on; 

I  loved  to  choose  and  see  my  path ;  but  now 
Lead  thou  me  on ! 

I  loved  the  garish  day,  and,  spite  of  fears 
Pride  ruled  my  will :  remember  not  past  years ! 


THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


So  long  thy  power  has  blest  me,  sure  it  still 
Will  lead  me  on 

O’er  moor  and  fen,  o’er  crag  and  torrent  till 
The  night  is  gone, 

And  with  the  morn  those  angel  faces  smile 
Which  I  have  loved  long  since  and  lost  awhile ! 

THE  MYSTIC’S  PRAYER 

William  Sharp  ( Fiona  Macleod ) 

Lay  me  to  sleep  in  sheltering  flame 
O  Master  of  the  Hidden  Fire ! 
Wash  pure  my  heart,  and  cleanse  for  me 
My  soul’s  desire. 

In  flame  of  sunrise  bathe  my  mind, 

O  Master  of  the  Hidden  Fire, 

That,  when  I  wake,  clear-eyed  may  be 
My  soul’s  desire. 

THE  INWARD  LIGHT 

Henry  Septimus  Sutton 

I  have  a  little  inward  light,  which  still 
All  tenderly  I  keep,  and  ever  will. 

I  think  it  never  wholly  dies  away; 

But  oft  it  seems  as  if  it  could  not  stay, 

And  I  do  strive  to  keep  it  if  I  may. 

Sometimes  the  wind  gusts  push  it  sore  aside : 
Then  closely  to  my  breast  my  light  I  hide, 

And  for  it  make  a  tent  of  my  two  hands, 

And  though  it  scarce  might  on  the  lamp  abide, 

It  soon  recovers  and  uprightly  stands. 

Sometimes  it  seems  there  is  no  flame  at  all; 

I  look  quite  close,  because  it  is  so  small : 

Then  all  for  sorrow  do  I  weep  and  sigh; 

But  Some  One  seems  to  listen  when  I  cry, 

And  the  light  burns  up  and  I  know  not  why. 


PRAYERS 


445 


O  God  !  O  Father  !  hear  thy  child  who  cries ! 

Who  would  not  quench  thy  flame ;  who  would  not  dare 
To  let  it  dwindle  in  a  sinful  air; 

Who  does  feel  how  all-precious  such  a  prize, 

And  yet,  alas !  is  feeble  and  not  wise. 

Oh,  hear,  dear  Father !  For  thou  knowst  the  need: 
Thou  knowst  what  awful  height  there  is  in  Thee,— 
How  very  low  I  am;  oh,  do  Thou  feed 
Thy  light,  that  it  burn  ever,  and  succeed 
My  life  to  deepest  holiness  to  lead. 


f.  PRAYERS  OF  GRATITUDE 

A  THANKSGIVING  TO  GOD 
Robert  Herrick 

Lord,  thou  hast  given  me  a  cell 
Wherein  to  dwell ; 

A  little  house,  whose  humble  roof 
Is  weather-proof ; 

Under  the  sparres  of  which  I  lie, 

Both  soft  and  drie; 

Where  thou,  my  chamber  for  to  ward, 
Hast  set  a  guard 

Of  harmless  thoughts,  to  watch  and  keep 
Me  while  I  sleep. 

Low  is  my  porch,  as  is  my  Fate, 

Both  void  of  state ; 

And  yet  the  threshold  of  my  door, 

Is  worn  by  the  poore, 

Who  hither  come  and  freely  get 
Good  words,  or  meat : 

Like  as  my  parlour,  so  my  hall 
And  kitchen’s  small ; 

A  little  butterie,  and  therein 
A  little  bin, 


446  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


Which  keeps  my  little  loaf  of  bread 
Unchipt,  unflead : 

Some  brittle  sticks  of  thorn  and  brier 
Make  me  a  fire, 

Close  by  whose  loving  coals  I  sit, 

And  glow  like  it. 

Lord  I  confess,  too,  when  I  dine 
The  pulse  is  thine, 

And  all  those  other  bits  that  bee 
There  placed  by  Thee ; 

The  worts,  the  purslane  and  the  messe 
Of  watercresse, 

Which  of  thy  kindness  thou  hast  sent; 

And  my  content 

Makes  those  and  my  beloved  beet 
To  be  more  sweet. 

’Tis  Thou  that  crownst  my  glittering  hearth 
With  guiltless  mirth; 

And  giv’st  me  wassaile  bowles  to  drink, 

Spiced  to  the  brink. 

Lord  ’tis  Thy  plenty-dropping  hand 
That  soiles  my  land, 

And  giv’st  me  for  my  bushel  sowne 
Twice  ten  for  one : 

Thou  mak’st  my  teeming  hen  to  lay 
Her  egg  each  day; 

Beside  my  healthful  ewes  to  bear 
Me  twins  each  yeare ; 

The  while  the  conduits  of  my  kine 
Run  creame  for  wine. 

All  these  and  better  thou  dost  send 
Me  to  this  end, — 

That  I  should  render,  for  my  part, 

A  thankful  heart ; 

Which,  fired  with  incense,  I  resigne 
As  wholly  Thine; 

But  the  acceptance,  that  must  be, 

My  Christ,  by  thee. 


PRAYERS 


447 


A  PRAYER 

William  Dean  Howells 

Lord,  for  the  erring  thought 
Not  into  evil  wrought; 

Lord,  for  the  wicked  will, 

Betrayed  and  baffled  still ; 

•  For  the  heart  from  itself  kept, 

Our  thanksgiving  accept ! 

For  ignorant  hopes  that  were 
Broken  at  our  blind  prayer; 

For  pain,  death,  sorrow  sent, 

Unto  our  chastisement ; 

For  all  loss  of  seeming  good, 

Quicken  our  gratitude ! 

PRAYER 
Harry  Kemp 

I  kneel  not  now  to  pray  that  Thou 
Make  white  one  single  sin, — 

I  only  kneel  to  thank  the  Lord 
For  what  I  have  not  been; 

For  deeds  which  sprouted  in  my  heart 
But  ne’er  to  bloom  were  brought, 

For  monstrous  vices  which  I  slew 
In  the  shambles  of  my  thought — 

Dark  deeds  the  world  has  never  guessed 
By  hell  and  passion  bred, 

Which  never  grew  beyond  the  bud 
That  cankered  in  my  head. 

Some  said  I  was  a  righteous  man — 

Poor  fools !  the  gallows  tree 
(If  Thou  hadst  let  one  foot  to  slip) 

Had  held  a  limb  for  me. 


448  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

So  for  the  man  I  might  have  been 
My  heart  must  cease  to  mourn, 

’Twere  best  to  praise  the  living  God 
For  monsters  never  born; 

To  bend  the  spiritual  knee 
(Knowing  myself  within) 

And  thank  the  kind,  benignant  God 
For  what  I  have  not  been! 

GOD,  YOU  HAVE  BEEN  TOO  GOOD  TO  ME 

Charles  W harton  Stork 

God,  you  have  been  too  good  to  me, 

You  don’t  know  what  you’ve  done. 

A  clod’s  too  small  to  drink  in  all 
The  treasure  of  the  sun. 

The  pitcher  fills  the  lifted  cup 
And  still  the  blessings  pour 
They  overbrim  the  shallow  rim 
With  cool  refreshing  store. 

You  are  too  prodigal  with  joy, 

Too  careless  of  its  worth, 

To  let  the  stream  with  crystal  gleam 
Fall  wasted  on  the  earth. 

Yet  many  thirsty  lips  draw  near 
And  quaff  the  greater  part ! 

There  still  will  be  too  much  for  me 
To  hold  in  one  glad  heart. 

g.  WAR  PRAYERS 

VICARIOUS  ATONEMENT 

Richard  Aldington 

There  is  an  old  and  very  cruel  god 
•  •••••• 

We  will  endure; 

We  will  try  not  to  wince 
When  he  crushes  and  rends  us. 


PRAYERS 


449 


If  indeed  it  is  for  your  sakes, 

If  we  perish  or  moan  in  torture, 

Or  stagger  under  sordid  burdens 
That  you  may  live — 

Then  we  can  endure. 

If  our  wasted  blood 
Makes  bright  the  page 
Of  poets  yet  to  be ; 

If  this  our  tortured  life 
Saved  from  destruction’s  nails 
Gold  words  of  a  Greek  long  dead; 
Then  we  can  endure. 

Then  hope, 

Then  watch  the  sun  rise 
Without  utter  bitterness. 

But,  O  thou  old  and  very  cruel  god, 
Take  if  thou  canst, 

This  bitter  cup  from  us. 

PRAYER 

Gilbert  Keith  Chesterton 

O  God  of  earth  and  altar, 

Bow  down  and  hear  our  cry, 

Our  earthly  rulers  falter, 

Our  people  drift  and  die; 

The  walls  of  gold  entomb  us, 

The  swords  of  scorn  divide, 

Take  not  Thy  thunder  from  us 
But  take  away  our  pride ! 

From  all  that  terror  teaches, 
From  lies  of  tongue  and  pen. 
From  all  the  easy  speeches 
That  comfort  cruel  men, 

From  sale  and  profanation 
Of  honor  and  the  sword, 

From  sleep  and  from  damnation 
Deliver  us,  Good  Lord ! 


THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


Tie  in  a  living  tether 

The  priest  and  prince  and  thrall, 

Bind  all  our  lives  together, 

Smite  us  and  save  us  all; 

From  ire  and  exultation 
A-flame  with  faith  and  free 
Lift  up  a  living  nation 
A  single  sword  to  thee ! 


BEFORE  ACTION 

William  Noel  Hodgson 

By  all  the  glories  of  the  day, 

And  the  cool  evening’s  benison ; 

By  the  last  sunset  touch  that  lay 
Upon  the  hills  when  the  day  was  done : 
By  beauty  lavishly  outpoured, 

And  blessing  carelessly  received, 

By  all  the  days  that  I  have  lived. 

Make  a  soldier,  Lord. 

By  all  of  all  men’s  hopes  and  fears, 
And  all  the  wonders  poets  sing, 

The  laughter  of  unclouded  years, 

And  every  sad  and  lovely  thing  : 

By  the  romantic  ages  stored 
With  high  endeavor  that  was  his, 

By  all  his  mad  catastrophes, 

Make  me  a  man,  O  Lord. 

I,  that  on  my  familiar  hill, 

Saw  with  uncomprehending  eyes 
A  hundred  of  thy  sunsets  spill 
Their  fresh  and  sanguine  sacrifice, 

Ere  the  sun  swings  his  noon-day  sword 
Must  say  goodbye  to  all  of  this : — 

By  all  delights  that  I  shall  miss, 

Help  me  to  die,  O  Lord ! 


PRAYERS 

A  PRAYER  OF  THE  PEOPLES 

Percy  Mackaye 

God  of  us  who  kill  our  kind ! 

Master  of  this  blood-tracked  Mind 
Which  from  wolf  and  Caliban 
Staggers  toward  the  star  of  man — 

Now,  on  Thy  cathedral  stair, 

God,  we  cry  to  Thee  in  prayer ! 

Where  our  stifled  anguish  bleeds 
Strangling  through  Thine  organ  reeds, 
Where  our  voiceless  songs  suspire 
From  the  corpses  in  Thy  choir — 

Through  Thy  charred  and  shattered  nave, 
God,  we  cry  on  Thee  to  save ! 

Save  us  from  our  tribal  gods ! 

From  the  racial  powers,  whose  rods — 
Wreathed  with  stinging  serpents — stir 
Odin  and  old  Jupiter 
From  their  ancient  hells  of  hate 
To  invade  Thy  dawning  state. 

Save  us  from  their  curse  of  kings ! 

Free  our  souls’  imaginings 
From  the  feudal  dreams  of  war; 

Yea,  God,  let  us  nevermore 
Make,  with  slaves  idolatry 
Kaiser,  King  or  Czar  of  Thee! 

We  who,  craven  in  our  prayer, 

Would  lay  off  on  Thee  our  care — 

Lay  instead  on  us  Thy  load; 

On  our  minds  Thy  spirit’s  goad, 

On  our  laggard  wills  Thy  whips 
And  Thy  passion  on  our  lips ! 

Fill  us  with  the  reasoned  faith 
That  the  prophet  lies,  who  saith 


45 1 


452  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

All  this  web  of  destiny, 

Torn  and  tangled,  cannot  be 
Newly  wove  and  redesigned 
By  the  Godward  human  mind. 

Teach  us :  so,  no  more  to  call 

Guidance  supernatural 

To  our  help,  but — heart  and  will — 

Know  ourselves  responsible 
For  our  world  of  wasted  good 
And  our  blinded  brotherhood. 

Lord,  our  God !  to  whom  from  clay, 

Blood  and  mire,  Thy  peoples  pray — 

Not  from  Thy  cathedral’s  stair 

Thou  hearest : — Thou  criest  through  our  prayer 

For  our  prayer  is  but  the  gate : 

We,  who  pray,  ourselves  are  fate. 


h.  PRAYERS  FOR  SPECIAL  THINGS 

FOR  INSPIRATION 

Michelangelo  Buonarotti 

Translated  by  William  Wordsworth 

The  prayers  I  make  will  then  be  sweet  indeed, 

If  thou  the  spirit  give  by  which  I  pray; 

My  unassisted  heart  is  barren  clay, 

Which  of  its  native  self  can  nothing  feed; 

Of  good  and  pious  works  thou  art  the  seed 
Which  quickens  where  thou  say’st  it  may; 
Unless  thou  show  us  then  thine  own  true  way, 
No  man  can  find  it!  Father,  Thou  must  lead! 

Do  thou,  then,  breathe  those  thoughts  into  my  mind 
By  which  such  virtue  may  in  me  be  bred 
That  in  thy  holy  footsteps  I  may  tread: 

The  fetters  of  my  tongue  do  thou  unbind, 

That  I  may  have  the  power  to  sing  of  thee 
And  sound  thy  praises  everlastingly. 


PRAYERS 


453 


A  VOYAGER’S  PRAYER 

Chippewa  Indians 

Translated  by  Tanner 

O  Great  Spirit ! 

Thou  hast  made  this  lake ; 

Thou  hast  also  created  us  as  Thy  children; 
Thou  art  able  to  make  this  water  calm 
Until  we  have  safely  passed  over. 


FOR  FORGIVENESS 
John  Donne 

Wilt  thou  forgive  that  sin  where  I  begun, 

Which  was  my  sin,  though  it  were  done  before? 

Wilt  thou  forgive  that  sin,  through  which  I  run 
And  do  run  still,  though  still  I  do  deplore? 

When  Thou  hast  done,  Thou  hast  not  done ; 

For  I  have  more. 

Wilt  Thou  forgive  that  sin  which  I  have  won 
Others  to  sin,  and  made  my  sins  their  door? 

Wilt  Thou  forgive  that  sin  which  I  did  shun 
A  year  or  two,  but  wallowed  in  a  score? 

When  Thou  hast  done,  Thou  hast  not  done ; 

For  I  have  more. 

I  have  a  sin  of  fear,  that  when  I  have  spun 
My  last  thread,  I  shall  perish  on  the  shore ; 

But  swear  by  thyself,  that  at  my  death  Thy  Son 
Shall  shine  as  He  shines  now  and  heretofore ; 

And,  having  done  that,  Thou  hast  done; 

I  fear  no  more. 


454  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


TO  A  SACRED  COW 

East  Indian  Toda 

Translated  by  W.  E.  Mashiel 

What  a  fine  cow  your  predecessor  was ! 
How  well  she  supported  us  with  her  milk ! 
Will  you  not  supply  us  in  like  manner? 
You  are  a  God  amongst  us — 

Do  not  let  the  sacred  place  go  to  ruin; 
Let  one  become  a  thousand : 

Let  all  be  well : 

Let  us  have  plenty  of  milk ! 


PRAYER  FOR  RAIN 
Kalevala 

(From  the  Finnish) 

Rise,  O  earth,  from  out  thy  slumber, 
Field  of  the  Creator,  rouse  thee, 

Make  the  blade  arise  and  flourish, 

Let  the  stalks  grow  up  and  lengthen. 
That  the  ears  may  grow  by  thousands, 
Yet  a  hundredfold  increasing, 

By  my  ploughing  and  my  sowing, 

In  return  for  all  my  labour. 

Ukko,  then,  of  Gods  the  highest, 
Father,  thou  in  heaven  abiding, 

Thou  to  whom  the  clouds  are  subject, 
Of  the  scattered  clouds  the  ruler, 

All  thy  clouds  do  thou  assemble, 

In  the  light  make  clear  thy  counsel, 
Send  thou  forth  a  cloud  from  eastward, 
In  the  north-west  let  one  gather, 


PRAYERS 


455 


Send  thou  others  from  the  westward, 

Let  them  drive  along  from  southward, 
Send  the  light  rain  forth  from  heaven, 
Let  the  clouds  distil  with  honey, 

That  the  corn  may  sprout  up  strongly, 
And  the  stalks  may  wave  and  rustle. 
Ukko,  then,  of  Gods  the  highest, 

Father  of  the  highest  heaven, 

Heard,  and  all  the  clouds  assembled, 

In  the  light  made  clear  his  counsel, 

And  he  sent  a  cloud  from  eastward, 

In  the  north-west  let  one  gather, 

Others,  too,  he  sent  from  westward, 

Let  them  drive  along  from  southward, 
Linked  them  edge  to  edge  together, 

And  he  closed  the  rifts  between  them, 
Then  he  sent  the  rain  from  heaven, 

And  the  clouds  distilled  sweet  honey, 
That  the  corn  might  sprout  up  stronger, 
And  the  stalks  might  wave  and  rustle, 
Thus  the  sprouting  germ  was  nourished, 
And  the  rustling  stalks  grew  upward, 
From  the  soft  earth  of  the  cornfield, 
Though  the  toil  of  Vainamoinen. 


EPITAPH 

George  MacDonald 

Here  lie  I,  Martin  Elginbrodde ; 
Hae  mercy  o’  my  soul,  Lord  God, 
As  I  wad  do,  were  I  Lord  God, 
An’  ye  were  Martin  Elginbrodde. 


456  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


PRAYER  TO  THE  MOUNTAIN  SPIRIT 

Navajo  Indians 

Translated  by  Cronyn 

Lord  of  the  Mountain, 

Reared  with  the  mountain, 

Young  man,  Chieftain, 

Llear  a  young  man’s  prayer ! 

Hear  a  prayer  for  cleanness. 

Keeper  of  the  strong  rain, 

Drumming  on  the  mountain; 

Lord  of  the  small  rain 

That  restores  the  earth  in  newness; 

Keeper  of  the  clean  rain, 

Hear  a  prayer  for  wholeness. 

Young  man,  Chieftain, 

Hear  a  prayer  for  fleetness. 

Keeper  of  the  deer’s  way, 

Reared  among  the  eagles, 

Clear  my  feet  of  slothness. 

Keeper  of  the  paths  of  men, 

Hear  a  prayer  for  straightness. 

Hear  a  prayer  for  courage. 

Lord  of  the  peaks, 

Reared  amid  the  thunders; 

Keeper  of  the  headlands 
Holding  up  the  harvest, 

Keeper  of  the  strong  rocks 
Hear  a  prayer  for  staunchness 
Young  man,  Chieftain, 

Spirit  of  the  Mountain ! 

PRAYER  FOR  PAIN 

John  G.  Neihardt 

I  do  not  pray  for  peace  nor  ease, 

Nor  truce  from  sorrow: 


PRAYERS 


457 


No  suppliant  on  servile  knees 
Begs  here  against  tomorrow ! 

Lean  flame  against  lean  flame  we  flash, 
O  Fates  that  meet  me  fair; 

Blue  steel  against  blue  steel  we  clash — 
Lay  on,  and  I  shall  dare ! 

But  Thou  of  deeps  the  awful  Deep, 

Thou  Breather  in  the  clay, 

Grant  this  my  only  prayer — Oh,  keep 
My  soul  from  turning  gray ! 

For  until  now,  whatever  wrought 
Against  my  sweet  desires, 

My  days  were  smitten  harps  strung  taut, 
My  nights  were  slumberous  lyres. 

And  howsoe’er  the  hard  blow  rang 
Upon  my  battered  shield, 

Some  lark-like,  soaring  spirit  sang 
Above  my  battlefield. 

And  through  my  soul  of  stormy  night 
The  zigzag  blue  flame  ran. 

I  asked  no  odds — I  fought  my  fight — 
Events  against  a  man. 

But  nov/ — at  last — the  gray  mist  chokes 
And  numbs  me.  Leave  me  pain! 

Oh ,  let  me  feel  the  biting  strokes , 

That  I  may  fight  again! 


A  DANCE  CHANT 

Osage  Indians 

Translated  by  D.  G.  Brinton 

O  Wahkonda  (Master  of  Life)  pity  me! 
I  am  very  poor : 

Give  me  what  I  need : 


458  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


Give  me  success  against  my  enemies : 
May  I  be  able  to  take  scalps ! 

May  I  be  able  to  take  horses ! 


PRAYER 
Louis  Untermeyer 

God,  although  this  life  is  but  a  wraith, 
Although  we  know  not  what  we  use ; 

Although  we  grope  with  little  faith, 

God,  give  me  the  heart  to  fight — and  lose. 

Ever  insurgent  let  me  be, 

Make  me  more  daring  than  devout; 

From  sleek  contentment  keep  me  free 
And  fill  me  with  a  buoyant  doubt. 

Open  my  eyes  to  visions  girt 

With  beauty,  and  with  wonder  lit, — 

But  let  me  always  see  the  dirt, 

And  all  that  spawn  and  die  in  it. 

Open  my  ears  to  music,  let 

Me  thrill  with  Spring’s  first  flutes  and  drums 

But  never  let  me  dare  forget 
The  bitter  ballads  of  the  slums. 

From  compromise  and  things  half-done, 

Keep  me,  with  stern  and  stubborn  pride ; 

But  when  at  last  the  fight  is  won, 

God,  keep  me  still  unsatisfied. 


PRAYER  OF  COLUMBUS 
Walt  Whitman 
A  batter’d,  wreck’d  old  man, 

Thrown  on  this  savage  shore,  far,  far  from  home, 

Pent  by  the  sea,  and  dark  rebellious  brows,  twelve  dreary  months, 
Sore,  stiff  with  many  toils,  sickened,  and  nigh  tp  death. 


PRAYERS 


459 


I  take  my  way  along  the  island’s  edge, 

Venting  a  heavy  heart. 

I  am  too  full  of  woe ! 

Elaply  I  may  not  live  another  day; 

I  cannot  rest,  O  God,  I  cannot  eat  or  drink  or  sleep, 

Till  I  put  forth  myself,  my  prayer,  once  more  to  Thee, 

Breathe,  bathe  myself  once  more  in  Thee,  commune  with  Thee, 
Report  myself  once  more  to  Thee. 

Thou  knowest  my  years  entire,  my  life, 

(My  long  and  crowded  life  of  active  work,  not  adoration  merely)  ; 
Thou  knowest  the  prayers  and  vigils  of  my  youth, 

Thou  knowest  my  manhood’s  solemn  and  visionary  meditations, 
Thou  knowest  how,  before  I  commenced,  I  devoted  all  to  come 
to  Thee, 

Thou  knowest  I  have  in  age  ratified  all  those  vows,  and  strictly 
kept  them, 

Thou  knowest  I  have  not  once  lost  nor  faith  nor  ecstasy  in  Thee, 
In  shackles,  prison’d,  in  disgrace,  repining  not, 

Accepting  all  from  Thee,  as  duly  come  from  Thee. 

All  my  emprises  have  been  filled  with  Thee, 

My  speculations,  plans,  begun  and  carried  on  in  thoughts  of 
Thee, 

Sailing  the  deep  or  journeying  the  land  for  Thee; 

Intentions,  purports,  aspirations  mine — leaving  results  to  Thee. 

O  I  am  sure  they  really  come  from  Thee ! 

The  urge,  the  ardor,  the  unconquerable  will, 

The  potent,  felt,  interior  command,  stronger  than  words, 

A  message  from  the  Heavens  whispering  to  me  even  in  sleep, 
These  sped  me  on. 

By  me  and  these  the  work  so  far  accomplished  (for  what  has 
been,  has  been), 

By  me  earth’s  elder  cloyed  and  stifled  lands,  uncloyed,  unloosed, 
By  me  the  hemispheres  rounded  and  tied,  the  unknown  to  the 
known. 

The  end  I  know  not,  it  is  all  in  Thee; 

Or  small  or  great  I  know,  not — haply  what  broad  fields,  what 
lands, 


460  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

Haply  the  brutish  measureless  human  undergrowth  I  know, 
Transplanted  there  may  rise  to  stature,  knowledge  worthy  Thee. 
Haply  the  swords  I  know  may  there  indeed  be  turned  to  reaping- 
tools  ; 

Plaply  the  lifeless  cross  I  know,  Europe’s  dead  cross,  may  bud 
and  blossom  there. 

One  effort  more,  my  altar  this  bleak  sand; 

That  Thou,  O  God,  my  life  hast  lighted, 

With  ray  of  light,  steady,  ineffable,  vouchsafed  of  Thee, 

(Light  rare,  untellable,  lighting  the  very  light! 

Beyond  all  signs,  descriptions,  languages!) 

For  that,  O  God — be  it  my  latest  word,  here  on  my  knees. 

Old,  poor,  and  paralyzed — I  thank  Thee. 

My  terminus  near, 

The  clouds  already  closing  in  upon  me, 

The  voyage  balked,  the  course  disputed,  lost, 

I  yield  my  ships  to  Thee. 

Steersman  unseen!  henceforth  the  helms  are  Thine; 

Take  Thou  command — (what  to  my  petty  skill  Thy  naviga¬ 
tion  ?) 

My  hands,  my  limbs  grow  nerveless;. 

My  brain  feels  racked,  bewildered; 

Let  the  old  timbers  part — I  will  not  part, 

I  will  cling  fast  to  Thee,  O  God,  though  the  waves  buffet  me; 
Thee,  Thee,  at  least  I  know. 

Is  it  the  prophet’s  thought  I  speak,  or  am  I  raving? 

What  do  I  know  of  life?  What  of  myself? 

I  know  not  even  my  own  work  past  or  present ; 

Dim,  ever-shifting  guesses  of  it  spread  before  me, 

Of  newer,  better  worlds,  their  mighty  parturition 
Mocking,  perplexing  me. 

And  these  things  I  see  suddenly — what  mean  they? 

As  if  some  miracle,  some  hand  divine  unsealed  mine  eyes, 
Shadowy  vast  shapes  smile  through  the  air  and  sky, 

And  on  the  distant  waves  sail  countless  ships, 

And  anthems  in  new  tongues  I  hear  saluting  me. 


VIII.  Worship 


a.  PRE-CHRISTIAN  PERIOD 

b.  EARLY  CHRISTIAN  AND  MEDIAEVAL  PERIODS 
C.  REFORMATION  PERIOD 

d.  EVANGELICAL  PERIOD 

e.  NINETEENTH  CENTURY 

f.  TWENTIETH  CENTURY 


VIII.  Worship 


a.  PRE-CHRISTIAN  PERIOD 


From  HYMN  TO  MARDUK 

Assyrian,  c.  2000  B.C. 

O  MIGHTY,  powerful,  strong  one  of  Ashur, 

O  exalted  prince,  first-born  of  Nu-Dim-Nud, 

O  Marduk,  terrible  one,  who  maketh  Eturra  to  rejoice, 
Lord  of  Esagila,  support  of  Babylon,  lover  of  Ezida, 

Protector  of  all  living,  patron  of  E-mahtila,  renewer  of  life, 
Protection  of  the  land,  benefactor  of  peoples,  far  and  wide. 
Forever  the  ruler  of  the  shrines, 

Forever  is  thy  name  acceptable  in  the  mouth  of  the  people, 

O  Marduk,  great  lord  *  *  * 

By  thy  illustrious  command,  Let  me  live,  let  me  prosper  and 
Let  me  honour  thy  divinity ! 

When  I  plan,  let  me  attain  (my  plan), 

Establish  truth  in  my  mouth, 

Put  (?)  kindness  in  my  heart, 

Return  and  be  established.  May  they  proclaim  favours  to  me 
May  my  god  stand  at  my  right  hand ! 

May  my  goddess  stand  at  my  left  hand ! 

May  my  god,  my  benefactor,  establish  himself  at  my  side, 

To  give  and  to  command,  to  hearken  and  to  show  favour ! 

Let  the  word  I  speak,  when  I  speak,  be  propitious. 

O  Marduk,  great  lord,  command  life, 

The  life  of  my  life  do  thou  command! 

When  I  bow  myself  before  thee  joyfully,  may  I  be  satisfied! 
May  Bel  be  thy  light,  may  Ae  make  thee  to  rejoice! 

463 


464  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


May  the  gods  of  the  world  be  tributary  to  thee ! 
May  the  great  gods  please  thy  heart! 


Another  HYMN  TO  MARDUK 

O  Marduk,  lord  of  countries,  terrible  one  *  *  * 

Powerful,  independent,  perfect  *  *  * 

Exalted,  lofty,  whose  *  *  *  cannot  be  changed 

(The  next  eight  lines  are  too  badly  broken  to  translate.) 

Lord  of  the  fountains,  mountains,  and  seas,  overseer  of  the 
mountains, 

*  Lord  of  *  *  *  and  fortresses,  who  directeth  the  course  of  the 
rivers, 

Bestower  of  corn  and  grain  (?),  grower  of  wheat  and  barley 
(?),  who  maketh  the  green  herb  to  spring  forth. 

Thou  createst  what  god  and  goddess  create,  in  the  midst  of 
their  *  *  *  art  thou. 

Ruler  of  Anunnaki,  leader  of  the  Igigi, 

Wise  one,  first-born  of  Ea,  creator  of  all  mankind, 

Lord  art  thou,  and  like  a  father  and  a  mother  in  *  *  *  art 
thou, 

And  thou,  like  the  Sun-god,  makest  light  their  darkness. 

(Twenty-four  lines  omitted.) 

O  my  lord,  stand  by  me  at  this  time,  and  hear  my  cry,  pronounce 
judgment  and  determine  fate. 

The  sickness  of  *  *  *  do  thou  destroy  and  the  disease  of  my 
body  do  thou  take  away. 

O  my  god  and  goddess,  judge  mankind  and  *  *  * 

By  command  of  thy  mouth,  may  no  evil  approach  me,  the  magic 
of  the  sorcerer  and  sorceress ! 


WORSHIP 


465 


PENITENTIAL  PSALM  TO  THE  GODDESS  ANUNIT 

Babylonian,  c.  2000  B.C. 

IV 

May  the  wrath  of  the  heart  of  my  god  be  pacified ! 

May  the  god  who  is  unknown  to  me  be  pacified; 

May  the  goddess  who  is  unknown  to  me  be  pacified; 

May  the  known  and  unknown  god  be  pacified !  ! 

May  the  known  and  unknown  goddess  be  pacified ! 

May  the  heart  of  my  god  be  pacified ! 

May  the  heart  of  my  goddess  be  pacified ! 

May  the  god  or  goddess  known  or  unknown  be  pacified ! 

May  the  god  who  is  angry  with  me  be  pacified ! 

May  the  goddess  who  is  angry  with  me  be  pacified 
The  sin  which  I  have  committed  I  know  not. 

The  misdeed  which  I  have  committed  I  know  not. 

A  gracious  name  may  my  god  announce ! 

A  gracious  name  may  my  goddess  announce ! 

A  gracious  name  may  my  known  and  unknown  god  announce ! 

A  gracious  name  may  my  known  and  unknown  goddess  an¬ 
nounce  ! 

Pure  food  have  I  not  eaten, 

Clear  water  have  I  not  drunk. 

An  offence  against  my  god  have  I  unwittingly  committed. 

A  transgression  against  my  goddess  have  I  unwittingly  done. 

O  lord,  my  sins  are  many,  great  are  my  iniquities ! 

My  god,  my  sins  are  many,  great  are  my  iniquities! 

My  goddess,  my  sins  are  many,  great  are  my  iniquities ! 

Known  or  unknown  god,  my  sins  are  many,  great  are  my 
iniquities ! 

Known  or  unknown  goddess,  my  sins  are  many,  great  are  my 
iniquities ! 

The  sin,  which  I  have  committed  I  know  not. 

The  iniquity,  which  I  have  done,  I  know  not. 

The  offence,  which  I  have  committed,  I  know  not. 

The  transgression  I  have  done,  I  know  not. 

The  lord,  in  the  anger  of  his  heart,  hath  looked  upon  me. 


466  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

The  god,  in  the  wrath  of  his  heart,  hath  visited  me. 

The  goddess  hath  become  angry  with  me,  and  hath  grievously 
stricken  me. 

The  known  or  unknown  god  hath  straitened  me. 

The  known  or  unknown  goddess  hath  brought  affliction  upon 
me. 

I  sought  for  help,  but  no  one  taketh  my  hand.  . 

I  wept,  but  no  one  came  to  my  side. 

I  utter  cries,  but  no  one  hearkens  to  me. 

I  am  afflicted,  I  am  overcome,  I  do  not  look  up. 

Unto  my  merciful  god  I  turn,  I  make  supplication. 

I  kiss  the  feet  of  my  goddess  and  *  *  * 

To  known  and  unknown  god,  I  make  supplication. 

To  known  and  unknown  goddess,  I  make  supplication. 

O  lord,  look  with  favour  upon  me,  receive  my  supplication ! 

O  goddess,  look  with  favour  upon  me,  receive  my  supplication! 
Known  and  unknown  god  *  *  * 

Known  and  unknown  goddess  *  *  * 

How  long,  my  god  *  *  * 

How  long,  my  goddess,  until  thy  face  be  burned  toward  me? 
How  long,  known  or  unknown  god,  until  the  anger  of  thy  heart 
be  pacified? 

How  long,  known  or  unknown  goddess,  until  thy  unfriendly 
heart  be  pacified? 

Mankind  is  perverted  and  has  no  judgment. 

Of  all  men  who  are  alive,  who  knows  anything? 

They  do  not  know  whether  they  do  good  or  evil. 

O  lord,  do  not  cast  aside  thy  servant ! 

He  is  cast  into  the  mire ;  take  his  hand. 

The  sin  which  I  have  sinned,  turn  to  mercy! 

The  iniquity  which  I  have  committed,  let  the  wind  carry 
away ! 

My  many  transgressions  tear  off  like  a  garment ! 

My  god,  my  sins  are  seven  times  seven;  forgive  my  sins! 

My  goddess,  my  sins  are  seven  times  seven;  forgive  my  sins! 
Known  and  unknown  god,  my  sins  are  seven  times  seven;  for¬ 
give  my  sins; 

Known  and  unknown  goddess,  my  sins  are  seven  times  seven; 
forgive  my  sins ! 

Forgive  my  sins  and  I  will  humble  myself  before  thee. 


WORSHIP  467 

May  thy  heart,  as  the  heart  of  a  mother  who  hath  borne  children, 
be  glad ! 

As  a  mother  who  hath  borne  children,  as  a  father  who  hath 
begotten  (them),  may  it  be  glad! 


PENITENTIAL  PSALM 
Babylonian,  c.  2000  B.C. 

Suppliant : 

I,  thy  servant,  full  of  sighs,  cry  unto  thee. 

Thou  acceptest  the  fervent  prayer  of  him  who  is  burdened 
with  sin. 

Thou  lookest  upon  a  man  and  that  man  lives. 

O  potentate  of  the  world,  mistress  of  mankind ! 

Merciful  one,  to  whom  it  is  good  to  turn,  who  accepteth 
supplication ! 

Priest : 

His  god  and  his  goddess  being  angry  with  him  he  crieth 
unto  thee. 

Turn  thy  face  toward  him  and  take  his  hand. 

Suppliant : 

Besides  thee  there  is  no  god  who  guideth  aright. 

Look  with  true  favour  upon  me  and  accept  my  supplication. 
Declare,  “how  long”  (I  am  to  wait),  and  let  thy  liver  be 
pacified. 

When,  O  my  mistress,  will  thy  face  be  turned? 

Like  the  doves  do  I  moan,  in  sighs  do  I  abound. 

V  • 

Priest: 

With  woe  and  grief,  full  of  sighs,  is  his  soul; 

Tears  doth  he  weep,  laments  doth  he  pour  forth. 

*  *  * 


See  Buddhist  Sisters ,  Section  II.  a . 


468  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


HYMN  TO  AMEN  RA,  THE  SUN  GOD 
Egyptian,  c.  1700  B.C. 

Translated  by  Frank  Lloyd  Griffith 
Praise  of  Amen  Ra ! 

The  bull  in  Heliopolis,  the  chief  of  all  the  gods, 

The  beautiful  and  beloved  god 

Who  giveth  life  to  all  warm-blooded  things, 

To  all  manner  of  goodly  cattle! 

I 

Hail  to  thee,  Amen  Ra !  lord  of  the  thrones  of  the  two  lands. 
Thou  who  dwellest  in  the  sanctuary  of  Karnak. 

Bull  of  his  mother,  he  who  dwelleth  in  his  fields, 

Wide-ranging  in  the  Land  of  the  South. 

Lord  of  the  Mezau,  ruler  of  Pent, 

Prince  of  heaven,  heir  of  earth, 

Lord  of  all  things  that  exist ! 

Alone  in  his  exploits  even  amongst  the  gods, 

The  goodly  bull  of  the  Ennead  of  the  gods, 

Chiefest  of  all  the  gods, 

Lord  of  truth,  father  of  the  gods, 

Maker  of  men,  creator  of  animals, 

Lord  of  the  things  which  are,  maker  of  fruit  trees, 

Maker  of  pasture,  who  causeth  the  cattle  to  live ! 

Image  made  by  Ptah,  youth  fair  of  love ! 

The  gods  give  praise  unto  him; 

Maker  of  things  below  and  of  things  above,  he  illuminateth  the 
two  lands; 

He  traverseth  the  sky  in  peace. 

King  of  Upper  and  Lower  Egypt,  Ra  the  Justified,  chief  of  the 
two  lands. 

Great  one  of  valor,  lord  of  awe ; 

Chief,  making  the  earth  in  its  entirety ! 

Nobler  in  thy  ways  than  any  god, 

The  gods  rejoice  in  his  beauties! 


WORSHIP 


469 


To  him  are  given  acclamations  in  the  Great  House, 

Glorious  celebrations  in  the  House  of  Flame; 

The  gods  love  his  odor  when  he  cometh  from  Punt. 

Prince  of  the  dew,  he  entereth  the  land  of  the  Mezau ! 

Fair  of  face,  coming  to  the  Divine  Land! 

The  gods  gather  as  dogs  at  his  feet, 

Even  as  they  recognize  his  majesty  as  their  lord. 

Lord  of  fear,  great  one  of  terror, 

Great  of  soul,  lordly  in  manifestations, 

Flourishing  of  offerings,  maker  of  plenty, 

Acclamations  to  thee,  maker  of  the  gods, 

Thou  who  dost  upraise  the  sky,  and  press  down  the  ground ! 


Ill 


Ra,  exalted  in  Karnak ! 

Great  of  splendor  in  the  House  of  the  Obelisk 
Ani,  lord  of  the  New  Moon  festival, 

To  whom  are  celebrated  the  festival  of  the  sixth  day  and  of  the 
quarter  month. 

Liege  lord,  to  whom  Life,  Prosperity,  Health !  lord  of  all  the 
gods, 

Who  see  him  (?)  in  the  midst  of  the  horizon, 

Chief  over  the  Pat  and  Hades, 

His  name  is  more  hidden  than  his  birth, 

In  his  name  of  Amen,  the  hidden  One. 

Hail  to  thee  who  art  in  peace ! 

Lord  of  enlargement  of  heart,  lordly  in  manifestations, 

Lord  of  the  uraeus  crown,  with  lofty  double  plume; 

Fair  of  diadem,  with  lofty  white  crown ! 

The  gods  love  the  sight  of  thee, 

The  Sekhemt  crown  is  established  upon  thy  forehead. 

Thy  loveliness  is  shed  abroad  over  the  two  lands; 

Thy  rays  shine  forth  in  the  eyes  of  men;  fair  for  the  Pat  and 
the  Rekhyt  is  thy  rising, 

Weary  are  the  flocks  when  thou  art  radiant. 

Thy  loveliness  is  in  the  southern  sky,  thy  sweetness  in  the 
northern  sky, 

Thy  beauties  conquer  hearts, 


470  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

Thy  loveliness  maketh  arms  to  droop, 

Thy  beautiful  form  maketh  hands  to  fail; 

Hearts  faint  at  the  sight  of  thee. 

Sole  figure,  who  didst  make  all  that  is ! 

One  and  only  one,  maker  of  all  that  are, 

From  whose  eyes  mankind  issued, 

By  whose  mouth  the  gods  were  created, 

Who  makest  the  herbage,  and  rnakest  to  live  the  cattle,  goats, 
swine,  and  sheep, 

The  fruit  trees  for  the  Henememt. 

He  maketh  the  life  of  fishes  in  the  river, 

The  fowl  of  the  air, 

Giving  breath  to  that  which  is  in  the  egg; 

Making  the  offspring  of  the  serpent  to  live ; 

Making  to  live  therewith  the  flies, 

The  creeping  things,  and  the  leaping  things,  and  the  like. 
Making  provision  for  the  mice  in  their  holes; 

Making  to  live  the  birds  in  every  tree, 

Flail  to  thee,  maker  of  all  these ! 

One  and  only  one,  with  many  arms ! 

At  night  wakeful  while  all  sleep, 

Seeking  good  for  his  flock. 

Amen-ra  establisheth  all  things ! 

Turn  Horus  of  the  horizon! 

Praises  be  to  thee  in  that  all  say, 

“Acclamations  to  thee,  for  that  thou  outweariest  thyself  with  us ! 
Obeisance  to  thee  for  that  thou  didst  make  us !” 

Flail  to  thee,  from  all  animals ! 

Acclamations  to  thee  from  every  land, 

To  the  height  of  heaven,  to  the  breadth  of  earth, 

To  the  depth  of  the  great  waters ! 

The  gods  bow  before  thy  majesty, 

Exalting  the  mighty  spirit  that  formed  them ! 

They  rejoice  at  the  coming  of  him  who  begat  them! 

They  say  unto  thee : — “Come,  come  in  peace ! 

Fathers  of  the  fathers  of  all  the  gods, 

Thou  who  dost  upraise  the  sky  and  press  down  the  ground.” 
Maker  of  that  which  is,  former  of  those  which  have  being, 
Liege  lord — to  whom  Life,  Prosperity,  Health  ! — chief  of  the 
ex>ds. 


WORSHIP 


47i 


We  adore  thy  mighty  spirit  even  as  thou  madest  us; 

Who  were  made  for  thee  when  thou  fashionest  us. 

We  give  praises  unto  thee  for  that  thou  outweariest  thyself 
with  us. 

Hail  to  thee  who  didst  make  all  that  is ! 

Lord  of  truth,  father  of  the  gods, 

Maker  of  men,  fashioner  of  animals, 

Lord  of  corn, 

Making  to  live  the  animals  of  the  desert. 

Amen,  bull  fair  of  face, 

Beloved  in  Thebes, 

Great  one  of  splendors  in  the  House  of  the  Obelisk, 

Twice  crowned  in  Heliopolis, 

Thou  who  judgest  between  the  twain  in  the  Great  Hall ! 

Chief  of  the  great  Ennead  of  the  gods, 

One  and  only  one,  without  his  peer, 

Dwelling  in  Thebes, 

Ani  in  his  divine  Ennead, 

He  liveth  on  truth  every  day. 

God  of  the  horizon,  Horus  of  the  East, 

Who  hath  made  the  hills  that  have  silver,  gold, 

Real  lapis  lazuli,  at  his  pleasure : 

Gums  and  incense  are  mingled  for  the  Mezau, 

Fresh  incense  for  thy  nostrils. 

Fair  of  face  he  cometh  to  Mezau, 

Amen  Ra,  lord  of  the  throne  of  the  two  lands. 

He  who  dwelleth  in  Thebes, 

Ani  in  his  sanctuary. 

IV 

Sole  King  is  he,  even  in  the  midst  of  the  gods; 

Many  are  his  names,  none  knoweth  their  number. 

He  riseth  on  the  horizon  of  the  east,  he  is  laid  to  rest  on  the 
horizon  of  the  west. 

He  overthroweth  his  enemies 
In  the  daily  task  of  every  day; 

In  the  morning  he  is  born  each  day ; 

Thoth  raiseth  his  eyes, 

And  propitiateth  him  with  his  benefits ; 


472  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

The  gods  rejoice  in  his  beauties, 

Exalting  him  who  is  in  the  midst  of  adorers ! 

Lord  of  the  Sekti  and  of  the  Madet  bark, 

Which  traverse  for  thee  Nu  in  peace ! 

Thy  crew  rejoice 

When  they  see  the  overthrow  of  the  wicked  one, 

Whose  members  taste  the  knife; 

The  flame  devoureth  him; 

His  soul  is  more  punished  than  his  body ; 

That  Nak  serpent,  he  is  deprived  of  movement. 

The  gods  are  in  exultation, 

The  crew  of  Ra  are  in  peace, 

Heliopolis  is  in  exultation, 

The  enemies  of  Turn  are  overthrown. 

Karnak  is  in  peace,  Heliopolis  is  in  exultation. 

The  heart  of  the  uraeus  goddess  is  glad, 

The  enemies  of  her  lord  are  overthrown; 

The  gods  of  Kheraha  are  in  acclamation, 

The  dwellers  in  the  sanctuaries  are  in  obeisance; 

They  behold  him  mighty  in  his  power. 

Mighty  prince  of  the  gods ! 

Great  one  of  Justice,  lord  of  Karnak, 

In  this  thy  name,  ‘‘Doer  of  Justice,” 

Lord  of  Plenty,  Peaceful  Bull; 

In  this  thy  name,  “Amen,  Bull  of  his  Mother,” 

Making  mankind,*  creating  all  that  is, 

In  this  thy  name  of  “Turn  Khepera,” 

Great  hawk,  adorning  the  breast ! 

Fair  of  face  adorning  the  bosom. 

Figure  lofty  of  diadem. 

The  two  uraei  fly  on  wings  before  him, 

The  hearts  of  men  run  up  to  him  (like  dogs), 

The  illuminated  ones  turn  toward  him. 

Adorning  the  two  lands  by  his  coming  forth, 

Hail  to  thee,  Amen  Ra,  lord  of  the  throne  of  the  two  lands! 
His  city  loveth  his  rising. 

This  is  the  end, 
in  peace, 
as  it  was  found. 


WORSHIP 


473 


HYMN  TO  ZEUS 

TEschylus  (From  the  Greek) 

First  Chorus  from  Agamemnon 

Zeus, — by  what  name  soe’er 
He  glories  being  addressed, 

Even  by  that  holiest  name 

I  name  the  highest  and  the  Best. 

On  him  I  cast  my  troublous  care, 

My  only  refuge  from  despair : 

Weighing  all  else,  in  Him  alone  I  find 
Relief  from  this  vain  burden  of  the  mind. 

One  erst  appeared  supreme, 

Bold  with  abounding  might, 

But  like  a  darkling  dream 
Vanished  in  long  past  night 
Powerless  to  save ;  and  he  is  gone 
Who  flourished  since,  in  turn  to  own 
His  conqueror,  to  whom  with  soul  on  fire 
Man  crying  aloud  shall  gain  his  souks  desire — , 

Zeus  who  prepared  for  men 

The  path  of  wisdom,  binding  fast 
Learning  to  suffering.  In  their  sleep 
The  mind  is  visited  again 
With  memory  of  affliction  past. 

Without  the  will,  reflection  deep 
Reads  lesson  that  perforce  shall  last, 

Thanks  to  the  power  that  plies  the  sovran  oar, 
Resistless,  toward  the  eternal  shore. 


474  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


CHORUS  FROM  (EDIPUS  REX 
Sophocles,  490-405  B.C. 

Strophe  I 

Oh,  may  my  constant  feet  not  fail, 

Walking  in  paths  of  righteousness, 

Sinless  in  word  and  deed, — 

True  to  those  eternal  laws 
That  scale  forever  the  high  steep 
Of  heaven’s  pure  ether,  whence  they  sprang; — 

For  only  in  Olympus  is  their  home, 

Nor  mortal  wisdom  gave  them  birth: 

And  howsoe’er  men  may  forget, 

They  will  not  sleep ; 

For  the  might  of  the  god  within  them  grows  not  old. 

Antistrophe  I 

Rooted  in  pride,  the  tyrant  grows; 

But  pride  that  with  its  own  too-much 
Is  rashly  surfeited, 

Heeding  not  the  prudent  mean, 

Down  the  inevitable  gulf 
From  its  high  pinnacle  is  hurled, 

Where  use  of  feet  or  foothold  there  is  none. 

But,  O  kind  gods,  the  noble  strength 
That  struggles  for  the  State’s  behoof 
Unbend  not  yet : 

In  the  gods  have  I  put  my  trust;  I  will  not  fear. 

Strophe  II 

But  whoso  walks  disdainfully 
In  act  or  word, 

And  fears  not  Justice,  nor  reveres 
The  throned  gods, — 

Him  let  misfortune  slay 


WORSHIP 


475 


For  his  ill-starred  wantoning, 

Should  he  heap  unrighteous  gains, 

Nor  from  unhallowed  paths  withhold  his  feet, 
Or  reach  rash  hands  to  pluck  forbidden  fruit. 
Who  shall  do  this,  and  boast 
That  yet  his  soul  is  proof 
Against  the  arrows  of  offended  Heaven? 

If  honor  crowns  such  deeds  as  these, 

Not  song  but  silence,  then,  for  me ! 

Antistrophe  II 

To  earth’s  dread  centre,  unprofaned 
By  mortal  touch, 

No  more  with  awe  will  I  repair, 

Nor  Abae’s  shrine, 

Nor  the  Olympian  plain, 

If  the  truth  stands  not  confessed, 

Pointed  at  by  all  the  world. 

O  Zeus  supreme,  if  rightly  thou  art  called 
Lord  over  all,  let  not  these  things  escape 
Thee  and  thy  timeless  sway ! 

For  now  men  set  at  naught 
Apollo’s  word,  and  cry,  “Behold,  it  fails!” 

His  praise  is  darkened  with  a  doubt; 

And  faith  is  sapped,  and  Heaven  defied. 


b.  EARLY  CHRISTIAN  AND  MEDIEVAL  PERIODS 

INSPIRATION 

Ode  VI  of  Solomon 

Translated  by  J.  Rendel  Harris 

As  the  hand  moves  over  the  harp,  and  the  strings  speak, 
So  speaks  in  my  members  the  Spirit  of  the  Lord, 

And  I  speak  by  His  love. 


476  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

For  He  destroys  what  is  foreign,  and  everything  that  is  bitter: 

For  thus  it  was  from  the  beginning  and  will  be  to  the  end, 

That  nothing  should  be  His  adversary, 

And  nothing  should  stand  up  against  Him. 

The  Lord  hath  multiplied  the  knowledge  of  Himself, 

And  is  zealous  that  these  things  should  be  known, 

Which  by  His  grace  have  been  given  unto  us. 

And  the  praise  of  His  name  He  gave  us : 

Our  spirits  praise  Flis  holy  Spirit. 

For  there  went  forth  a  stream  and  became  a  river  great  and 
broad ; 

For  it  flooded  and  broke  up  everything  and  it  brought  (water) 
to  the  Temple : 

And  the  restrainers  of  the  children  of  men  were  not  able  to 
restrain  it, 

Nor  the  arts  of  those  whose  business  it  is  to  restrain  waters; 

For  it  spread  over  the  face  of  the  whole  earth,  and  filled 
everything : 

And  all  the  thirsty  upon  earth  were  given  to  drink  of  it; 

And  thirst  was  relieved  and  quenched :  for  from  the  Most  High 
the  draft  was  given. 

Blessed  then  are  the  ministers  of  that  draft  who  are  en¬ 
trusted  with  that  water  of  His : 

They  have  assuaged  the  dry  lips,  and  the  will  that  had  fainted 
they  have  raised  up; 

And  souls  that  were  near  departing  they  have  brought  back 
from  death : 

And  limbs  that  had  fallen  they  straightened  and  set  up : 

They  gave  strength  for  their  feebleness  and  light  to  their  eyes : 

For  everyone  knew  them  in  the  Lord,  and  they  lived  by  the 
water  of  life  forever. 


Hallelujah. 


WORSHIP 


477 


TO  TRUTH 

Translated  by  J.  Rendel  Harris 

Ode  XXXVIII  of  Solomon 

I  went  up  to  the  light  of  truth  as  if  into  a  chariot: 

And  the  Truth  took  me  and  led  me: 

And  carried  me  across  pits  and  gullies ; 

And  from  the  rocks  and  waves  it  preserved  me : 

And  it  became  to  me  an  instrument  of  salvation : 

And  set  me  on  the  arms  of  immortal  life : 

And  it  went  with  me  and  made  me  rest,  and  suffered  me  not  to 
wander,  because  it  was  the  Truth; 

And  I  ran  no  risk,  because  I  walked  with  Him; 

And  I  did  not  make  an  error  in  anything  because  I  obeyed  the 
Truth. 

For  Error  flees  away  from  it,  and  meets  it  not: 

But  the  Truth  proceeds  in  the  right  path, 

And  whatever  I  did  not  know,  it  made  clear  to  me, 

All  the  poisons  of  error,  and  the  plagues  which  announce  the 
fear  of  death 

And  I  saw  the  destroyer  of  destruction,  when  the  bride  who  is 
corrupted  is  adorned; 

And  the  bridegroom  who  corrupts  and  is  corrupted ; 

And  I  asked  the  Truth,  “Who  are  these?” 

And  He  said  to  me,  This  is  the  deceiver  and  the  error : 

And  they  are  alike  in  the  beloved  and  in  His  bride : 

And  they  lead  astray  and  corrupt  the  (whole)  world: 

And  they  invite  many  to  the  banquet, 

And  give  them  to  drink  the  wine  of  their  intoxication, 

And  remove  their  wisdom  and  knowledge, 

And  (so  they)  make  them  without  intelligence; 

And  then  they  leave  them; 

And  then  these  go  about  like  madmen  corrupting : 

Seeing  that  they  are  without  heart,  nor  do  they  seek  it. 

» 

And  I  was  made  wise  so  as  not  to  fall  into  the  hands  of  the 
Deceiver ; 

And  I  rejoiced  in  myself  because  the  Truth  went  with  me. 


478  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

And  I  was  established  and  lived  and  was  redeemed, 

And  my  foundations  were  laid  on  the  hand  of  the  Lord : 
Because  He  established  me. 

For  Pie  set  the  root  and  watered  it  and  fixed  it  and  blessed  it; 
And  its  fruits  are  forever, 

It  struck  deep  and  sprung  up  and  spread  out,  and  was  full  and 
enlarged ; 

And  the  Lord  alone  was  glorified  in  His  planting  and  in  His 
husbandry : 

By  His  care  and  the  blessing  of  His  lips,  by  the  beautiful 
planting 

Of  His  right-hand : 

And  by  the  discovery  of  His  planting  and  by  the  thought  of 
His  mind. 

Hallelujah. 

EARLIEST  CHRISTIAN  HYMN 

OF 

Clement  of  Alexandria,  ist  Cent.  A.D. 

Translated  by  E.  H.  Plumptre 

Curb  for  stubborn  steed, 

Making  its  will  give  heed; 

Wing  that  directest  right, 

The  wild  bird’s  wandering  flight; 

Helm  for  the  ships  that  keep 
Their  pathway  o’er  the  deep; 

Shepherd  of  sheep  that  own 
Their  Master  on  the  throne, 

Stir  up  thy  children  meek 
With  guileless  lips  to  speak, 

In  hymn  and  song,  thy  praise, 

Guide  of  their  infant  ways. 

O  King  of  saints,  O  Lord, 

Mighty,  all-conquering  Word; 

Son  of  the  highest  God 
Wielding  his  wisdom’s  rod; 

Our  stay  when  cares  annoy, 


WORSHIP 


479 


Giver  of  endless  joy; 

Of  all  our  mortal  race 
Savior,  of  boundless  grace, 

O  Jesus,  hear ! 

Shepherd  and  Sower,  thou, 

Now  helm,  and  bridle  now, 

Wing  for  the  heavenward  flight 
Of  flocks  all  pure  and  bright, 
Fisher  of  men,  the  blest, 

Out  of  the  world’s  unrest, 

Out  of  Sin’s  troubled  sea 
Taking  us,  Lord,  to  thee; 

Out  of  the  waves  of  strife 
With  bait  of  blissful  life, 

With  choicest  fish,  good  store, 
Drawing  thy  nets  to  shore. 

Lead  us,  O  shepherd  true, 

Thy  mystic  sheep,  we  sue, 

Lead  us,  O  holy  Lord, 

Who  from  thy  sons  dost  ward 
With  all-prevailing  charm, 

Peril,  curse  and  harm; 

O  path  where  Christ  has  trod, 

O  way  that  leads  to  God, 

O  Word  abiding  aye, 

O  endless  Light  on  high, 

Mercy’s  fresh-springing  flood. 
Worker  of  all  things  good, 

O  glorious  Life  of  all, 

That  on  their  Maker  call. 

Christ  Jesus,  hear  ! 

O  Milk  of  Heaven,  that  prest 
From  full,  overflowing  breast 
Of  her,  the  mystic  bride, 

Thy  wisdom  hath  supplied; 

Thine  infant  children  seek 
With  baby  lips  all  weak, 

Filled  with  the  Spirit’s  dew 
From  that  dear  bosom  true, 


480  THE  WORLD'S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


Thy  praises  pure  to  sing, 

Hymns  meet  for  thee,  our  King, 

For  Thee,  the  Christ; 

Our  holy  tribute,  this, 

For  wisdom,  life  and  bliss, 

Singing  in  chorus  meet, 

Singing  in  concert  sweet 
The  Almighty  Son. 

We,  heirs  of  peace  unpriced, 

We,  who  are  born  in  Christ, 

A  people  pure  from  stain, 

Praise  we  our  God  again, 

Lord  of  our  Peace ! 

DE  PROFUNDIS 

Out  of  the  depths  have  I  cried  unto  Thee,  O  Lord. 

Lord,  hear  my  voice ;  let  Thine  ears  be  attentive  to  the  voice 
of  my  supplications. 

If  Thou,  Lord,  shouldst  mark  iniquities,  O  Lord,  who  shall 
stand  ? 

But  there  is  forgiveness  with  Thee,  that  Thou  mayest  be 
feared. 

I  wait  for  the  Lord,  my  soul  doth  wait,  and  in  His  wrord  do  I 
hope. 

My  soul  waiteth  for  the  Lord  more  than  they  that  watch  for 
the  morning ;  I  say  more  than  they  that  watch  for  the  morning. 

Let  Israel  hope  in  the  Lord  for  with  the  Lord  there  is  mercy, 
and  with  Him  is  plenteous  redemption. 

And  He  shall  redeem  Israel  from  all  his  iniquities. 


GLORIA  IN  EXCELSIS 

Glory  be  to  God  on  high,  and  on  earth  peace,  good-will  towards 
men. 

We  praise  Thee,  we  bless  Thee,  we  worship  Thee,  we  glorify 
Thee. 

We  give  thanks  to  Thee,  for  Thy  great  glory. 


WORSHIP 


481 


O  Lord  God,  heavenly  King,  God  the  Father  Almighty. 

O  Lord,  the  only  begotten  Son,  Jesus  Christ. 

O  Lord  God,  Lamb  of  God,  Son  of  the  Father, 

That  takest  away  the  sins  of  the  world,  have  mercy  upon  us. 
Thou  that  takest  away  the  sins  of  the  world,  have  mercy  upon  us. 
Thou  that  takest  away  the  sins  of  the  world,  receive  our 
prayer. 

Thou  that  sittest  at  the  right  hand  of  God  the  Father,  have 
mercy  upon  us. 

For  Thou  only  art  holy,  Thou  only  art  the  Lord. 

Thou  only,  O  Christ,  with  the  Holy  Ghost,  art  most  high  in 
the  glory  of  God  the  Father. 

MAGNIFICAT 

My  soul  doth  magnify  the  Lord, 

And  my  spirit  hath  rejoiced  in  God  my  Saviour. 

For  he  hath  regarded  the  low  estate  of  his  handmaiden:  fo 
behold,  from  henceforth  all  generations  shall  call  me  blessed 
For  he  that  is  mighty  hath  done  to  me  great  things;  and  holy 
is  his  name. 

And  his  mercy  is  on  them  that  fear  him  from  generation  to 
generation. 

He  hath  showed  strength  with  his  arm ;  he  hath  scattered  the 
proud  in  the  imagination  of  their  hearts. 

He  hath  put  down  the  mighty  from  their  seats,  and  exalted 
them  of  low  degree. 

He  hath  filled  the  hungry  with  good  things  and  the  rich 
he  hath  sent  empty  away. 

He  hath  holpen  his  servant  Israel,  in  remembrance  of  his 
mercy. 

As  he  spake  to  our  fathers,  to  Abraham,  and  to  his  seed 
forever. 

NUNC  DIMITTIS 

Lord,  now  lettest  Thou  Thy  servant  depart  in  peace :  according 
to  Thy  word. 

For  mine  eyes  have  seen  Thy  salvation. 


482  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


Which  Thou  hast  prepared  before  the  face  of  all  people. 

A  light  to  lighten  the  Gentiles;  and  the  glory  of  Thy  people 
Israel. 

TE  DEUM  LAUDAMUS 
Anonymous 

We  praise  thee,  O  God;  we  acknowledge  thee  to  be  the  Lord. 
All  the  earth  doth  worship  thee,  the  Father  everlasting. 

To  thee  all  Angels  cry  aloud;  the  Heavens,  and  all  the  powers 
therein. 

To  thee  Cherubim  and  Seraphim  continually  do  cry, 

Lloly,  Holy,  Holy,  Lord  God  of  Sabaoth ; 

Heaven  and  earth  are  full  of  the  Majesty  of  thy  Glory. 

The  glorious  company  of  the  Apostles  praise  thee. 

The  goodly  fellowship  of  the  prophets  praise  thee. 

The  noble  army  of  martyrs  praise  thee. 

The  holy  Church  throughout  all  the  world  doth  acknowledge  thee ; 
The  Father  of  an  infinite  Majesty; 

Thine  honorable,  true,  and  only  Son; 

Also  the  Holy  Ghost,  the  comforter. 

Thou  art  the  King  of  Glory,  O  Christ. 

Thou  art  the  everlasting  Son  of  the  Father. 

When  thou  tookest  upon  thee  to  deliver  man, 
thou  didst  not  abhor  the  Virgin’s  womb. 

When  thou  hadst  overcome  the  sharpness  of  death, 

thou  didst  open  the  kingdom  of  Heaven  to  all  believers. 
Thou  sittest  at  the  right  hand  of  God,  in  the  Glory  of  the 
Father. 

We  believe  that  thou  shalt  come  to  be  our  Judge. 

We  therefore  pray  thee,  help  thy  servants,  whom  thou  hast 
redeemed  with  the  precious  blood. 

Make  them  to  be  numbered  with  thy  Saints  in  glory  everlasting. 
O  Lord,  save  thy  people,  and  bless  thine  heritage. 

Govern  them,  and  lift  them  up  forever. 

Day  by  day  we  magnify  thee ; 

And  we  worship  thy  Name  ever,  world  without  end. 

Vouchsafe,  O  Lord,  to  keep  us  this  day  without  sin. 

O  Lord,  have  mercy  upon  us,  have  mercy  upon  us. 

O  Lord,  let  thy  mercy  lighten  upon  us,  as  our  trust  is  in  thee. 
O  Lord,  in  thee  have  I  trusted;  let  me  never  be  confounded. 


WORSHIP 


483 


STABAT  MATER 

Jacobus  de  Benedictis 

At  the  cross  her  station  keeping, 

Stood  the  mournful  mother  weeping 
Close  to  Jesus  to  the  last; 

Through  her  heart  His  sorrow  sharing, 
All  His  bitter  anguish  bearing, 

Now  at  length  the  sword  had  passed. 

Oh,  how  sad  and  sore  distressed 
Was  that  Mother  highly  blessed 
Of  the  sole-begotten  One  ! 

Christ  above  in  torment  hangs, 

She  beneath  beholds  the  pangs 
Of  her  dying  glorious  Son. 

Is  there  one  who  would  not  weep, 
Whelmed  in  miseries  so  deep, 

Christ’s  dear  Mother  to  behold? 

Can  the  human  heart  refrain 
From  partaking  in  her  pain, 

In  that  Mother’s  pain  untold? 

Bruised,  derided,  cursed,  defiled, 

She  beheld  her  tender  child 
All  with  bloody  scourges  rent, 

For  the  sins  of  His  own  nation, 

Saw  Him  hang  in  desolation, 

Till  His  spirit  forth  He  sent. 

O  thou  Mother,  fount  of  love ! 

Touch  my  spirit  from  above, 

Make  my  heart  with  thine  accord; 
Make  me  feel  as  thou  hast  felt; 

Make  my  soul  to  glow  and  melt 
With  the  love  of  Christ  my  Lord. 


484  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


Holy  Mother !  pierce  me  through ; 

In  my  heart  each  wound  renew 
Of  my  Saviour  crucified: 

Let  me  share  with  thee  His  pain, 

Who  for  all  my  sins  was  slain, 

Who  for  me  in  torments  died. 

Let  me  mingle  tears  with  thee, 
Mourning  Him  who  mourned  for  me. 
All  the  days  that  I  may  live : 

By  the  cross  with  thee  to  stay, 

There  with  thee  to  weep  and  pray, 

Is  all  I  ask  of  thee  to  give. 

Virgin  of  all  virgins  best, 

Listen  to  my  fond  request: 

Let  me  share  thy  grief  divine ; 

Let  me,  to  my  latest  breath, 

In  my  body  bear  the  death 
Of  that  dying  Son  of  thine. 

Wounded  with  His  every  wound, 
Steep  my  soul  till  it  hath  swooned 
I11  His  very  blood  away : 

Be  to  me,  O  Virgin,  nigh, 

Lest  in  flames  I  burn  and  die 
In  His  awful  judgment  day. 

Christ,  when  thou  shalt  call  me  hence, 
Be  Thy  Mother  my  defence, 

Be  Thy  cross  my  victory; 

While  my  body  here  decays, 

May  my  soul  Thy  goodness  praise, 

Safe  in  Paradise  with  Thee. 


WORSHIP 


485 


THE  DEER’S  CRY 
St.  Patrick,  c.  400  A.D. 

I  arise  today 

Through  a  mighty  strength,  the  invocation  of  the  Trinity, 
Through  a  belief  in  the  threeness, 

Through  confession  of  the  oneness 
Of  the  Creator  of  Creation. 

I  arise  today 

Through  the  strength  of  Christ’s  birth  with  His  Baptism, 
Through  the  strength  of  His  crucifixion  with  His  burial, 
Through  the  strength  of  His  resurrection  with  His  ascension, 
Through  the  strength  of  His  descent  for  the  judgment  of  Doom. 

I  arise  today 

Through  the  strength  of  the  love  of  Cherubim, 

In  obedience  of  angels, 

In  the  service  of  archangels, 

In  hope  of  resurrection  to  meet  with  reward, 

In  prayers  of  patriarchs 
In  predictions  of  prophets, 

In  preachings  of  apostles, 

In  faiths  of  confessors, 

In  innocence  of  holy  virgins, 

In  deeds  of  righteous  men. 

I  arise  today 

Through  the  strength  of  heaven: 

Light  of  sun 
Radiance  of  moon, 

Splendour  of  fire, 

Speed  of  lightning, 

Swiftness  of  wind, 

Depth  of  sea, 

Stability  of  earth, 

Firmness  of  rock. 

A  arise  today 

Through  God’s  strength  to  pilot  me: 


486  THE  WORLD’S  "GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

God’s  might  to  uphold  me, 

God’s  wisdom  to  guide  me, 

God’s  eye  to  look  before  me, 

God’s  ear  to  hear  me, 

God’s  word  to  speak  for  me, 

God’s  hand  to  guard  me, 

God’s  way  to  lie  before  me, 

God’s  shield  to  protect  me, 

God’s  host  to  save  me 
From  snares  of  devils, 

From  temptations  of  vices, 

From  every  one  who  shall  wish  me  ill, 

Afar  and  anear, 

Alone  and  in  a  multitude. 

I  summon  today  all  these  powers  between  me  and  those  evils, 
Against  every  cruel  merciless  power  that  may  oppose  my  body 
and  soul, 

Against  incantations  of  false  prophets, 

Against  black  laws  of  pagandom, 

Against  false  laws  of  heretics, 

Against  craft  of  idolatry, 

Against  spells  of  women  and  smiths  and  wizards, 

Against  every  knowledge  that  corrupts  man’s  body  and  soul. 

Christ  shield  me  today 
Against  poison,  against  burning, 

Against  drowning,  against  wounding, 

So  that  there  may  come  to  me  abundance  of  reward. 

Christ  with  me,  Christ  before  me,  Christ  behind  me, 

Christ  in  me,  Christ  beneath  me,  Christ  above  me, 

Christ  on  my  right,  Christ  on  my  left, 

Christ  when  I  lie  down,  Christ  when  I  sit  down, 

Christ  when  I  arise, 

Christ  in  the  heart  of  every  man  who  thinks  of  me, 

Christ  in  the  mouth  of  every  one  who  speaks  of  me, 

Christ  in  every  eye  that  sees  me, 

Christ  in  every  ear  that  hears  me. 

I  arise  today 

Through  a  mighty  strength,  the  invocation  of  the  Trinity, 


WORSHIP 


487 


Through  a  belief  in  the  threeness, 
Through  a  confession  of  the  oneness 
Of  the  Creator  of  Creation. 


MORNING  HYMN 

Gregory  the  Great,  c.  600  A.D. 

Translated  by  Edward  Caswall 

Lo,  fainter  now  lie  spread  the  shades  of  night, 

And  upward  spread  the  trembling  gleams  of  morn; 
Suppliant  we  bend  before  the  Lord  of  Light, 

And  pray  at  early  dawn, 

That  his  sweet  charity  may  all  our  sin 
Forgive,  and  make  our  miseries  to  cease; 

May  grant  us  health,  grant  us  the  gift  divine 
Of  everlasting  peace. 

Father  Supreme,  this  grace  on  us  confer; 

And  Thou,  O  son,  by  an  eternal  birth ! 

With  Thee,  coequal  spirit  comforter ! 

Whose  glory  fills  the  earth. 


A  HYMN 

The  Venerable  Bede,  735  A.D. 

Translated  by  Elizabeth  Charles 

A  hymn  of  glory  let  us  sing; 

New  songs  throughout  the  world  shall  ring; 

By  a  new  way  none  ever  trod 

Christ  mounteth  to  the  throne  of  God. 

The  apostles  on  the  mountain  stand, — 

The  mystic  mount,  in  Holy  Land; 


488  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

They  with  the  virgin  mother,  see 
Jesus  ascend  in  majesty. 

The  angels  say  to  the  eleven: 

“Why  stand  ye  gazing  into  heaven? 

This  is  the  Savior,  this  is  He ! 

Jesus  hath  triumphed  gloriously !” 

They  said  the  Lord  should  come  again, 

As  these  beheld  him  rising  then, 

Calm  soaring  through  the  radiant  sky, 

Mounting  its  dazzling  summits  high. 

May  our  affections  thither  tend, 

And  thither  constantly  ascend, 

Where,  seated  on  the  Father’s  throne, 

Thee  reigning  in  the  heavens  we  own! 

Be  thou  our  present  joy,  Oh  Lord! 

Who  wilt  be  ever  our  reward; 

And,  as  the  countless  ages  flee, 

May  all  our  glory  be  in  Thee! 


THE  SOUL’S  BITTER  CRY 

Tamil  Saivite  Saints,  Between  6bo  and  800  A.D. 

In  right  I  have  no  power  to  live, 

Day  after  day  I’m  stained  with  sin; 

I  read,  but  do  not  understand; 

I  hold  Thee  not  my  heart  within. 

O  light,  O  flame,  O  first  of  all, 

I  wandered  far  that  I  might  see, 

Athihai  Virattanam’s  Lord, 

Thy  flower — like  feet  of  purity. 

Daily  I’m  sunk  in  worldly  sin ; 

Naught  know  I  as  I  ought  to  know; 
Absorbed  in  vice  as  ’twere  my  kin, 

I  see  no  path  in  which  to  go. 


WORSHIP 


489 


O  Thou  with  throat  one  darkling  gem, 
Gracious,  such  grace  to  me  accord, 

That  I  may  see  Thy  beauteous  feet, 
Athihai  Virattanam’s  Lord. 

My  fickle  heart  one  love  forsakes, 

And  forthwith  to  some  other  clings; 

Swiftly  to  some  one  thing  it  sways, 

And  e’en  as  swiftly  backward  swings. 

O  Thou  with  crescent  in  Thy  hair, 
Athihai  Virattanam’s  Lord, 

Fixed  at  Thy  feet  henceforth  I  lie, 

For  Thou  hast  broken  my  soul’s  cord. 

The  bond  of  lust  I  cannot  break; 
Desire’s  fierce  torture  will  not  die; 

My  Soul  I  cannot  stab  awake 

To  scan  my  flesh  with  seeing  eye. 

I  bear  upon  me  load  of  deeds, 

Load  such  as  I  can  ne’er  lay  down. 

Athihai  Virattanam’s  Lord, 

Weary  of  joyless  life  I’ve  grown. 


VENI  CREATOR  SPIRITUS 

Attributed  to  Charlemagne,  800  A.D. 

Translated  by  Dryden 

Creator  Spirit,  by  whose  aid 

The  world’s  foundations  first  were  laid. 

Come,  visit  every  pious  mind, 

Come,  pour  thy  joys  on  humankind; 

From  sin  and  sorrow  set  us  free, 

And  make  us  temples  worthy  thee. 

O  source  of  uncreated  light, 

The  Father’s  promised  Paraclete; 

Thrice  holy  fount,  thrice  holy  fire, 


490  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

Our  hearts  with  heavenly  love  inspire; 

Come,  and  thy  sacred  unction  bring, 

To  sanctify  us  while  we  sing. 

Plenteous  of  grace,  descend  from  high, 

Rich  in  thy  seven-fold  energy ! 

Thou  strength  of  his  Almighty  hand, 

Whose  power  does  heaven  and  earth  command; 
Proceeding  Spirit,  our  defence, 

Who  dost  the  gift  of  tongues  dispense, 

And  crownedst  thy  gift  with  eloquence ! 

Refine  and  purge  our  earthly  parts : 

But,  oh,  inflame  and  fire  our  hearts : 

Our  frailties  help,  our  vice  control; 

Submit  the  senses  to  the  soul ; 

And  when  rebellious  they  are  grown, 

Then  lay  thy  hand  and  hold  them  down. 

Chase  from  our  minds  the  infernal  foe, 

And  peace,  the  fruit  of  love,  bestow; 

And,  lest  our  feet  should  step  astray, 

Protect  and  guide  us  on  the  way. 

Make  us  eternal  truths  receive, 

And  practice  all  that  we  believe : 

Give  us  thyself  that  we  may  see 
Thy  Father  and  the  Son  by  thee. 

Immortal  honor,  endless  fame, 

Attend  the  Almighty  Father’s  name: 

The  Savior  Son  be  glorified, 

Who  for  lost  man’s  redemption  died: 

And  equal  adoration  be, 

Eternal  Paraclete,  to  thee ! 


WORSHIP 


49 1 


THE  FINISHED  COURSE 

St.  Joseph  of  the  Studium,  850  A.D. 
Translated  by  J.  M.  Neale 

Safe  home,  safe  home  in  port; 

Strained  cordage,  shattered  deck, 
Torn  sails,  provisions  short, 

And  only  not  a  wreck ; 

But  oh,  the  joy,  upon  the  shore 
To  tell  our  voyage  perils  o’er ! 

The  prize,  the  prize  secure ! 

The  wrestler  nearly  fell; 

Bore  all  he  could  endure 
And  bore  not  always  well; 

But  he  may  smile  at  troubles  gone 
Who  sets  the  victor’s  garland  on. 

No  more  the  foe  can  harm; 

No  more,  of  leaguered  camp, 

And  cry  of  night  alarm, 

And  need  of  ready  lamp ; 

And  yet  how  nearly  he  had  failed ! 
How  nearly  had  the  foe  prevailed ! 

The  lamb  is  in  the  fold, 

In  perfect  safety  penned; 

The  lion  once  had  hold, 

And  thought  to  make  an  end, 

But  One  came  by  with  wounded  side, 
And  for  the  sheep  the  shepherd  died. 

The  exile  is  at  home; 

O  nights  and  days  of  tears ! 

O  longings  not  to  roam ! 

O  sins  and  doubts  and  fears ! 

What  matters  now?  O  joyful  day! 
The  King  hath  wiped  all  tears  away ! 


THE  WORLD'S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

O  happy,  happy  bride, 

The  widowed  hours  are  past ! 

The  bridegroom  at  thy  side 
Thou  all  his  own  at  last; 

The  sorrows  of  thy  former  cup 
In  full  fruition  swallowed  up. 

HYMN  OF  SIVAITE  PURITANS 

ioth  Century  A.D. 

When  once  I  knew  the  Lord, 

What  to  me  were  the  host 
Of  pagan  deities, 

Some  fixed  in  temple  shrine 
Or  carried  in  the  crowd; 

Some  made  of  unbaked  clay, 

And  some  burnt  hard  with  fire? 

With  all  the  lying  tales 
That  fill  the  sacred  books, 

They’ve  vanished  from  my  mind. 

How  many  flowers  I  gave 
At  famous  temple-shrines ! 

How  often  told  my  Cede 
And  washed  the  idol’s  head ! 

And  still  with  weary  feet 
Encircled  Siva’s  shrines ! 

But  now  at  last  I  know 
Where  dwells  the  King  of  Gods, 

And  never  will  adore 
A  temple  made  by  hands. 

But  yet  I  have  a  shrine — 

The  mind  within  my  breast. 

An  image  too  is  there — 

The  soul  that  came  from  God. 

I  offer  ash  and  flowers — 

The  praises  of  my  heart; 


WORSHIP 


493 


And  all  the  God-made  world 
Is  frankincense  and  myrrh. 
And  thus  where’er  I  go 
I  ever  worship  God. 


STRENGTH,  LOVE,  LIGHT 

King  Robert  of  France,  c.  iooo  A.D. 

O  Thou  almighty  Will 
Faint  are  thy  children,  till 
Thou  come  with  power : 

Strength  of  our  good  intents, 

In  our  frail  hour,  Defence, 

Calm  of  Faith’s  confidence, 

Come,  in  this  hour ! 

O  Thou  most  tender  Love ! 

Deep  in  our  spirits  move : 

Tarry,  dear  Guest! 

Quench  thou  our  passion’s  fire, 

Raise  thou  each  low  desire, 

Deeds  of  brave  love  inspire, 

Ouickener  and  Rest ! 

O  Light  serene  and  still ! 

Come  and  our  spirits  fill, 

Bring  in  the  day: 

Guide  of  our  feeble  sight, 

Star  of  our  darkest  night, 

Shine  on  the  path  of  right, 

Show  us  the  way ! 

Jerusalem,  the  Golden,  Bernard  of  Cluny,  1145  A.D.  (see 
Section  XII). 


494  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


JESUS,  THOU  JOY  OF  LOVING  HEARTS 

St.  Bernard  of  Clairvaux  (From  the  Latin)  1150  A.D. 

Jesus,  thou  joy  of  loving  hearts, 

Thou  Fount  of  life,  thou  Light  of  men, 

From  the  best  bliss  that  earth  imparts, 

We  turn  unfilled  to  thee  again. 

Thy  truth  unchanged  hath  ever  stood; 

Thou  savest  those  who  on  thee  call ; 

To  them  that  seek  thee,  thou  art  good, 

To  them  that  find  thee,  all  in  all. 

We  taste  thee,  O  thou  living  Bread, 

And  long  to  feast  upon  thee  still ; 

We  drink  of  thee  the  Fountain-head, 

And  thirst,  our  souls  from  thee  to  fill. 

Our  restless  spirits  yearn  for  thee, 

Where’er  our  changeful  lot  is  cast; 

Glad,  when  thy  gracious  smile  we  see, 

Blest,  when  our  faith  can  hold  thee  fast 

O  Jesus,  ever  with  us  stay; 

Make  all  our  moments  calm  and  bright; 

Chase  the  dark  night  of  sin  away ; 

Shed  o’er  the  world  thy  holy  light. 


CANTICLE  OF  THE  SUN 
Saint  Francis  of  Assisi,  1225  A.D. 

Translated  by  Maurice  Francis  Egan 

Oh,  Most  High,  Almighty,  Good  Lord  God,  to  Thee  belong 
praise,  glory,  honor  and  all  blessing. 

Praised  be  my  Lord  God,  with  all  His  creatures,  and  especially 
our  brother  the  Sun,  who  brings  us  the  day  and  who  brings 
us  the  light :  fair  is  he,  and  he  shines  with  a  very  great 
splendor. 


WORSHIP 


495 


O  Lord,  he  signifies  us  to  thee ! 

Praised  be  my  Lord  for  our  sister  the  Moon,  and  for  the  stars, 
the  which  He  has  set  clear  and  lovely  in  the  heaven. 

Praised  be  my  Lord  for  our  brother  the  wind,  and  for  air  and 
clouds,  calms  and  all  weather,  by  which  Thou  upholdest 
life  and  all  creatures. 

Praised  be  my  Lord  for  our  sister  water,  who  is  very  service¬ 
able  to  us,  and  humble  and  precious  and  clean. 

Praised  be  my  Lord  for  our  brother  fire,  through  whom  thou 
givest  us  light  in  the  darkness ;  and  he  is  bright  and  pleasant 
and  very  mighty  and  strong. 

Praised  be  my  Lord  for  our  mother  the  earth,  the  which  doth 
sustain  us  and  keep  us,  and  bringeth  forth  divers  fruits  and 
flowers  of  many  colors,  and  grass. 

Praised  be  my  Lord  for  all  those  who  pardon  one  another  for 
love’s  sake,  and  who  endure  weakness  and  tribulation : 
blessed  are  they  who  peacefully  shall  endure,  for  thou,  O 
Most  High,  wilt  give  them  a  crown. 

Praised  be  my  Lord  for  our  sister,  the  death  of  the  body,  from 
which  no  man  escapeth.  Woe  to  him  who  dieth  in  mortal 
sin.  Blessed  are  those  who  die  in  thy  most  holy  will,  for 
the  second  death  shall  have  no  power  to  do  them  harm. 

Praise  ye  and  bless  the  Lord,  and  give  thanks  to  Him  and  serve 
Him  with  great  humility. 


HYMN 

St.  Thomas  Aquinas,  c.  1250  A.D. 

Sing,  my  tongue,  the  Saviour’s  glory, 
Of  His  flesh  the  mystery  sing; 

Of  the  blood,  all  price  exceeding, 
Shed  by  our  Immortal  King. 

Destined  for  the  world’s  redemption, 
From  a  noble  womb  to  spring. 

Of  a  pure  and  spotless  Virgin 
Born  for  us  on  earth  below, 

He,  as  Man  with  man  conversing, 


496  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


Stayed  the  seeds  of  truth  to  sow; 

Then  He  closed  in  solemn  order 
Wondrously  His  life  of  woe. 

On  the  night  of  that  Last  Supper, 
Seated  with  His  chosen  band, 

He  the  paschal  victim  eating, 

First  fulfils  the  Law’s  command; 
Then,  as  food  to  all  His  brethren, 
Gives  Himself  with  His  own  Hand. 

Word  made  flesh,  the  bread  of  nature 
By  His  Word  to  Flesh  He  turns; 

Wine  into  His  Blood  He  changes : — 
What  though  sense  no  change  discerns, 
Only  be  the  heart  in  earnest, 

Faith  her  lesson  quickly  learns. 

Down  in  adoration  falling, 

Lo !  the  Sacred  Host  we  hail : 

Lo !  o’er  ancient  forms  departing, 
Newer  rites  of  grace  prevail: 

Faith  for  all  defects  supplying, 

Where  the  feeble  senses  fail. 

To  the  Everlasting  Father, 

And  the  Son  who  reigns  on  high, 
With  the  Holy  Ghost  proceeding 
Forth  from  each  eternally, 

Be  salvation,  honour,  blessing, 

Might  and  endless  majesty.  Amen. 


Songs  of  Kabir,  1440  A.D.,  Translated  by  Rabindranath 
Tagore  (See  Sections  V  and  VI). 


WORSHIP 


497 


From  NANAK  AND  THE  SIKHS 
E.  Indian,  c.  1469  A.D. 

How  shall  I  address  Thee,  O  God?  how  shall  I  praise  Thee? 
how  shall  I  describe  Thee?  and  how  shall  I  know  Thee? 

Saith  Nanak,  everybody  speaketh  of  Thee,  one  wiser  than  the 
other. 

Great  is  the  Lord,  great  is  His  name;  (it  is  only)  what  He  doeth 
that  cometh  to  pass. 

Nanak,  he  who  is  spiritually  proud  shall  not  be  honoured  on 
his  arrival  in  the  next  world. 

Praisers  praise  God,  but  have  not  acquired  a  knowledge  of  Him, 

As  rivers  and  streams  fall  into  the  sea,  but  know  not  (its 
extent). 

Kings  and  emperors  who  possess  oceans  and  mountains  of 
property  and  wealth 

Are  not  equal  to  the  worm  which  forgetteth  not  God  in  its 
heart. 

Make  contentment  thine  earrings,  modesty  and  self-respect  thy 
wallet,  meditation  the  ashes  (to  smear  on  thy  body). 

Make  thy  body,  which  is  only  a  morsel  for  death,  thy  beggar’s 
coat,  and  faith  thy  rule  of  life  and  thy  staff. 

Make  association  with  all  thine  Ai  Panth,  and  the  conquest  of 
thy  heart  the  conquest  of  the  world. 

Hail !  Hail  to  Him, 

The  primal,  the  pure,  without  beginning,  the  indestructible,  the 
same  in  every  age ! 

One  Maya  in  union  (with)  God  gave  birth  to  three  acceptable 
children. 

One  of  them  is  the  creator,  the  second  the  provider,  the  third 
performeth  the  function  of  destroyer. 

As  it  pleaseth  God,  He  directeth  them  by  His  orders. 

He  beholdeth  them,  but  is  not  seen  by  them.  This  is  very 
marvellous. 


498  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

Hail !  Hail  to  Him, 

The  primal,  the  pure,  without  beginning,  the  indestructible,  the 
same  in  every  age ! 

Make  continence  thy  furnace,  forbearance  thy  goldsmith, 

Understanding  thy  anvil,  divine  knowledge  thy  tools, 

The  fear  (of  God)  thy  bellows,  austerities  thy  fire, 

Divine  love  thy  crucible,  and  melt  God’s  name  therein. 

In  such  a  true  mint  the  Word  shall  be  coined. 

This  is  the  practice  of  those  on  whom  God  looketh  with  an  eye 
of  favor. 

Nanak,  the  Kind  One,  by  a  glance  maketh  them  happy. 

The  air  is  the  Guru,  water  our  father,  and  the  great  earth  our 
mother ; 

Day  and  night  are  our  two  nurses,  male  and  female,  who  set 
the  whole  world  a-playing. 

Merits  and  demerits  shall  be  read  out  in  the  presence  of  the 
judge. 

According  to  men’s  acts,  some  shall  be  near  and  others  distant 
(from  God). 

Those  who  have  pondered  on  the  Name  and  departed  after  the 
completion  of  their  toil. 

Shall  have  their  countenances  made  bright,  O  Nanak;  how  many 
shall  be  emancipated  in  company  with  them ! 


C.  REFORMATION  PERIOD 


HYMN 

Martin  Luther,  1521 

Translated  by  Frederick  Hedge 

A  mighty  fortress  is  our  God 
A  bulwark  never  failing; 

Our  helper  he  amid  the  flood 
Of  mortal  ills  prevailing. 


WORSHIP 


499 


For  still  our  ancient  foe, 

Doth  seek  to  work  us  woe ; 

His  craft  and  power  are  great, 

And,  armed  with  cruel  hate 
On  earth  has  not  his  equal. 

Did  we  in  our  own  strength  confide, 

Our  striving  would  be  losing, — 

Were  not  the  right  man  on  our  side. 

The  man  of  God's  own  choosing. 

Dost  ask  who  that  may  be  ? 

Christ  Jesus,  it  is  he, 

Lord  Sabaoth  is  his  name, 

From  age  to  age  the  same, 

And  he  must  win  the  battle. 

And  though  this  world,  with  devils  filled, 
Should  threaten  to  undo  us, 

We  will  not  fear  for  God  hath  willed 
His  truth  to  triumph  through  us. 

The  Prince  of  darkness  grim, 

We  tremble  not  for  him, 

His  rage  we  can  endure, 

For  lo !  his  doom  is  sure, 

One  little  word  shall  fell  him. 

That  word  above  all  earthly  powers, 

No  thanks  to  them,  abideth; 

The  spirit  and  the  gifts  are  ours 
Through  Him  who  with  us  sideth. 

Let  goods  and  kindred  go, 

This  mortal  life  also; 

The  body  they  may  kill, 

God’s  truth  abideth  still. 

His  kingdom  is  forever. 


5oo 


THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


HYMN 

St.  Francis  Xavier,  1550 

My  God,  I  love  thee,  not  because 
I  hope  for  heaven  thereby ; 

Nor  because  they  who  love  thee  not 
Must  burn  eternally. 

Thou,  O  my  Jesus,  thou  didst  me 
Upon  the  cross  embrace ; 

For  me  didst  bear  the  nails  and  spear, 
And  manifold  disgrace; 

And  griefs  and  torments  numberless ; 

And  sweat  of  agony; 

E’en  death  itself, — and  all  for  one 
Who  was  thine  enemy. 

Then  why,  O  blessed  Jesu  Christ! 

Should  I  not  love  thee  well ; 

Not  for  the  sake  of  winning  heaven, 
Or  of  escaping  hell : 

Not  with  the  hope  of  gaining  aught; 

Not  seeking  a  reward; 

But  as  thyself  hast  loved  me, 

Oh,  ever-loving  Lord ! 

E’en  so  I  love  thee,  and  will  love 
And  in  thy  praise  will  sing; 

Solely  because  thou  art  my  God, 

And  my  eternal  King. 


WORSHIP 


50i 


SALUTATION  TO  JESUS  CHRIST 
John  Calvin,  1560 

I  greet  thee,  my  Redeemer  sure, 

I  trust  in  none  but  thee, 

Thou  who  hast  borne  such  toil  and  shame 
And  suffering  for  me : 

Our  hearts  from  cares  and  cravings  vain 
And  foolish  fears  set  free. 

Thou  art  the  King  compassionate, 

Thou  reignest  everywhere, 

Almighty  Lord,  reign  thou  in  us, 

Rule  all  we  have  and  are : 

Enlighten  us  and  raise  to  heaven, 

Amid  thy  glories  there. 

Thou  art  the  life  by  which  we  live; 

Our  stay  and  strength’s  in  thee; 

Uphold  us  so  in  face  of  death, 

What  time  soe’er  it  be', 

That  we  may  meet  it  with  strong  heart, 
And  may  die  peacefully. 

The  true  and  perfect  gentleness 
We  find  in  thee  alone; 

Make  us  to  know  thy  loveliness, 

Teach  us  to  love  thee  known; 

Grant  us  sweet  fellowship  with  thee, 

And  all  who  are  thine  own. 

Our  hope  is  in  none  else  but  thee; 

Faith  holds  thy  promise  fast; 

Be  pleased,  Lord,  to  strengthen  us, 

Whom  Thou  redeemed  hast, 

To  bear  all  troubles  patiently, 

And  overcome  at  last. 


THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


Chvldren  of  Eve  and  heirs  of  ill, 

To  thee  thy  banished  cry; 

To  thee  in  sorrow’s  vale  we  bring 
Our  sighs  and  misery; 

We  take  the  sinners’  place  and  plead: 

Lord,  save  us,  or  we  die. 

Look  Thou,  our  Daysman  and  High  Priest 
Upon  our  low  estate ; 

Make  us  to  see  God’s  face  in  peace 
Through  thee,  our  Advocate; 

With  thee,  our  Savior  may  our  feet 
Enter  at  heaven’s  gate. 

Lord  Jesus  Christ  of  holy  souls, 

The  Bridegroom  sweet  and  true, 

Meet  thou  the  rage  of  Anti-Christ, 

Break  thou  his  nets  in  two; 

Grant  us  thy  Spirit’s  help,  thy  will 
In  every  deed  to  do. 


SCOTCH  TE  DEUM 
William  Kethe,  1560 

All  people  that  on  earth  do  dwell, 

Sing  to  the  Lord  with  cheerful  voice; 

Him  serve  with  mirth,  His  praise  forth  tell, 
Come  Ye  before  Him  and  rejoice. 

The  Lord  ye  know  is  God  indeed, 

Without  our  aid  He  did  us  make; 

We  are  His  folk,  He  doth  us  feed, 

And  for  His  sheep  he  doth  us  take. 

O  enter  then  His  gates  with  praise, 
Approach  with  joy  His  courts  unto; 

Praise,  laud,  and  bless  His  name  always, 
For  it  is  seemly  so  to  do. 


WORSHIP 


503 


For  why?  the  Lord  our  God  is  good, 
His  mercy  is  forever  sure; 

His  truth  at  all  times  firmly  stood 
And  shall  from  age  to  age  endure. 


O  MOTHER  DEAR,  JERUSALEM 

“F.  B.  P.”  1583 

O  mother  dear,  Jerusalem! 

When  shall  I  come  to  thee  ? 

When  shall  my  sorrows  have  an  end? 

Thy  joys  when  shall  I  see? 

O  happy  harbour  of  God’s  saints ! 

O  sweet  and  pleasant  soil ! 

In  thee  no  sorrow  can  be  found, 

Nor  grief,  nor  care,  nor  toil. 

No  murky  cloud  o’ershadows  thee, 

Nor  gloom,  nor  darksome  night; 

But  every  soul  shines  as  the  sun; 

For  God  himself  gives  light. 

O  my  sweet  home,  Jerusalem, 

Thy  joys  when  shall  I  see? 

The  King  that  sitteth  on  thy  throne 
In  His  felicity? 

Thy  gardens  and  thy  godly  walks 
Continually  are  green, 

Where  grow  such  sweet  and  pleasant  flowers 
As  nowhere  else  are  seen. 

Right  through  thy  streets,  with  silver  sound, 
The  living  waters  flow, 

And  on  the  banks,  on  either  side, 

The  trees  of  life  do  grow. 


504  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

Those  trees  for  evermore  bear  fruit, 

And  evermore  do  spring : 

There  evermore  the  angels  are, 

And  evermore  do  sing. 

Jerusalem,  my  happy  home, 

Would  God  I  were  in  thee ! 

Would  God  my  woes  were  at  an  end, 

Thy  joys  that  I  might  see! 


BATTLE  HYMN 

Gustavus  Adolphus,  1630 

Translated  by  Catherine  Winkworth 

Fear  not,  O  little  flock !  the  foe 
Who  madly  seeks  your  overthrow; 

Dread  not  his  rage  and  power : 

What  though  your  courage  sometimes  faints? 
His  seeming  triumph  o’er  God’s  saints 
Lasts  but  an  hour. 

Be  of  good  cheer;  your  cause  belongs 
To  him  who  can  avenge  your  wrongs; 

Leave  it  to  him,  our  Lord. 

Though  hidden  now  from  all  our  eyes, 

He  sees  the  Gideon  who  shall  rise 
To  save  us,  and  his  word. 

As  true  as  God’s  own  word  is  true, 

Not  earth  or  hell  with  all  their  crew 
Against  us  shall  prevail. 

A  jest  and  byword  are  they  grown; 

God  is  with  us,  we  are  his  own, 

Our  victory'  cannot  fail. 

Amen,  Lord  Jesus;  grant  our  prayer! 

Great  captain,  now  thine  arm  make  bare ; 


WORSHIP 


505 


Fight  for  us  once  again ! 

So  shall  the  saints  and  martyrs  raise 
A  mighty  chorus  to  thy  praise 
World  without  end  !  Amen. 


d.  SEVENTEENTH  CENTURY 


FAIREST  LORD  JESUS 

Anonymous  (From  the  German) 

Fairest  Lord  Jesus 
Ruler  of  all  nature 
O  thou  of  God  and  man  the  Son ! 
Thee  will  I  cherish, 

Thee  will  I  honor, 

Thou  my  soul’s  glory,  joy  and  crown. 

Fair  are  the  meadows, 

Fairer  still  the  woodlands, 

Robed  in  the  blooming  garb  of  spring; 
Jesus  is  fairer, 

Jesus  is  purer, 

Who  makes  the  woful  heart  to  sing. 

Fair  is  the  sunshine, 

Fairer  still  the  moonlight, 

And  all  the  twinkling,  starry  host ; 
Jesus  shines  fairer, 

Jesus  shines  purer, 

Than  all  the  angels  heaven  can  boast. 


506  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


A  MYSTIC  SONG 

Anonymous  (From  the  French) 

Translated  by  Percy  Allen 

Out  for  a  walk  the  other  day, 

I  met  sweet  Jesus  by  the  way. 

My  heart  flies,  flies,  flies; 

My  heart  toward  heaven  flies, 

He  said  to  me :  “Daughter,  what  seekest  Thou  ?” 
“I  was  seeking  thee,  Jesus  sweet,  and  now 
My  heart  toward  heaven  flies; 

Humility  and  Charity, 

And  also  holy  Chastity, 

My  heart  flies,  flies,  flies, 

My  heart  toward  heaven  flies. 

“The  gifts  of  perfect  love  are  they, 

Daughter  thine  shall  they  be  one  day.” 

My  heart  flies,  flies,  flies, 

My  heart  toward  heaven  flies. 


THOU  ART  OF  ALL  CREATED  THINGS 

Pedro  Calderon  de  la  Barca 

Thou  art  the  essence  of  all  created  things, 
O  Lord,  the  essence  and  the  cause, 

The  source  and  center  of  all  bliss; 

What  are  those  veils  of  woven  light 
Where  sun  and  moon  and  stars  unite, 

The  purple  morn,  the  spangled  night, 

But  curtains  which  thy  mercy  draws 
Between  the  heavenly  world  and  this? 

The  terrors  of  the  sea  and  land — 


WORSHIP 


507 


When  all  the  elements  conspire, 

The  earth  and  water,  storm  and  fire — 
Are  but  the  sketches  of  thy  hand ; 

Do  they  not  all  in  countless  ways — 

The  lightning’s  flash,  the  howling  storm, 
The  dread  volcano’s  awful  blaze — 
Proclaim  thy  glory  and  thy  praise  ? 
Beneath  the  sunny  summer  showers 
Thy  love  assumes  a  milder  form, 

And  writes  its  angel  name  in  flowers; 
The  wind  that  flies  with  winged  feet 
Around  the  grassy  gladdened  earth, 
Seems  but  commissioned  to  repeat 
In  echo’s  accents — silvery  sweet — 

That  Thou,  O  Lord,  didst  give  it  birth. 
There  is  a  tongue  in  every  flame, 

There  is  a  tongue  in  every  wave; 

To  these  the  bounteous  Godhead  gave 
These  organs  but  to  praise  his  name ! 


LET  US  WITH  A  GLADSOME  MIND 

John  Milton,  1623 

Let  us  with  a  gladsome  mind 
Praise  the  Lord  for  He  is  kind; 

For  His  mercies  aye  endure, 

Ever  faithful,  ever  sure. 

Let  us  blaze  His  name  abroad, 

For  of  gods  He  is  the  God; 

Who  by  all-commanding  might, 

Filled  the  new-made  world  with  light,. 

He  the  golden  tressed  sun 
Caused  all  day  his  course  to  run; 

Th’  horned  moon  to  shine  by  night, 
’Mid  her  spangled  sisters  bright. 


508  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


He  His  chosen  race  did  bless, 

In  the  wasteful  wilderness; 

He  hath,  with  a  piteous  eye, 
Looked  upon  our  misery. 

All  things  living  He  doth  feed. 
His  full  hand  supplies  their  need; 
For  His  mercies  aye  endure, 

Ever  faithful,  ever  sure. 


ADAM’S  HYMN  IN  PARADISE 

van  Vondel  (From  the  Dutch),  c.  1640 

Translated  by  Sir  John  Bowring 

O  Father,  we  approach  Thy  throne, 

Who  bidst  the  Glorious  sun  arise 
All-Good,  almighty  and  all-wise, 

Great  source  of  all  things,  God  alone ! 

We  see  Thee!  Brighter  than  the  rays 
Of  the  bright  sun,  we  see  thee  shine ! 

As  in  a  fountain  divine, 

We  see  thee,  endless  fount  of  days! 

We  see  thee  who  our  frame  hast  wrought 
With  one  swift  word,  from  senseless  clay; 
Waked  with  one  glance  of  heavenly  ray, 
Our  never  dying  souls  from  naught. 

Those  souls  Thou  lightedst  with  the  spark 
At  Thy  pure  fire;  and  gracious  still, 
Gavst  immortality,  free  will, 

And  language  not  involved  in  dark ! 


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509 


THE  RESTLESS  HEART 
Psalm  of  the  Maratha  Saints 

p  • 

E.  Indian,  1608-1649 

As  on  the  bank  the  poor  fish  lies 
And  gasps  and  writhes  in  pain, 

Or  as  a  man  with  anxious  eyes 
Seeks  hidden  gold  in  vain, — 

So  is  my  heart  distressed  and  cries 
To  come  to  thee  again. 

Thou  knowest,  Lord,  the  agony 
Of  the  lost  infant’s  wail, 

Yearning  his  mother’s  face  to  see. 

(How  oft  I  tell  this  tale !) 

O  at  thy  feet  the  mystery 
Of  the  dark  world  unveil ! 

The  fire  of  this  harassing  thought 
Upon  my  bosom  preys. 

Why  is  it  I  am  thus  forgot  ? 

(O,  who  can  know  thy  ways?) 

Nay,  Lord,  thou  seest  my  hapless  lot; 

Have  mercy,  Tuka  says. 

ADAM’S  MORNING  HYMN 
John  Milton,  1667 
From  Paradise  Lost 

‘These  are  thy  glorious  works,  Parent  of  good, 
Almighty,  thine  this  universal  frame, 

Thus  wondrous  fair;  thyself  how  wondrous  then! 
Unspeakable,  who  sitt’st  above  these  heavens, 

To  us  invisible,  or  dimly  seen 


THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


In  these  thy  lowest  works ;  yet  these  declare 
Thy  goodness  beyond  thought,  and  power  divine. 
Speak,  ye  who  best  can  tell,  ye  sons  of  light, 

Angels,  for  ye  behold  him,  and  with  songs 
And  choral  symphonies,  day  without  night, 

Circle  his  throne  rejoicing,  ye  in  heaven, 

On  earth  join  all  ye  creatures  to  extol 

Him  first,  him  last,  him  midst,  and  without  end. 

Fairest  of  stars,  last  in  the  train  of  night, 

If  better  thou  belong  not  to  the  dawn, 

Sure  pledge  of  day,  that  crown’st  the  smiling  morn 
With  thy  bright 'circlet,  praise  him  in  thy  sphere 
While  day  arises,  that  sweet  hour  of  prime. 

Thou  Sun,  of  this  great  World  both  eye  and  soul, 
Acknowledge  him  thy  Greater,  sound  his  praise 
In  thy  eternal  course,  both  when  thou  climb’st, 

And  when  high  noon  hast  gained,  and  when  thou  fall’st. 
Moon  that  now  meet’st  the  orient  sun,  now  fliest, 

With  the  fixed  stars,  fixed  in  their  orb  that  flies, 

And  ye  five  other  wandering  fires  that  move 
In  mystic  dance  not  without  song,  resound 
His  praise,  who  out  of  darkness  called  up  light. 

Air,  and  ye  elements,  the  eldest  birth 
Of  Nature’s  womb,  that  in  quaternion  run 
Perpetual  circle,  multiform,  and  mix 
And  nourish  all  things,  let  your  ceaseless  change 
Vary  to  our  great  Maker  still  new  praise. 

Ye  mists  and  exhalations  that  now  rise 
From  hill  or  steaming  lake,  dusky  or  gray, 

Till  the  sun  paint  your  fleecy  skirts  with  gold, 

In  honor  to  the  world’s  great  Author  rise, 

Whether  to  deck  with  clouds  the  uncoloured  sky, 

Or  wet  the  thirsty  earth  with  falling  showers, 

Rising  or  falling,  still  advance  his  praise. 

His  praise,  ye  winds,  that  from  four  quarters  blow, 
Breathe  soft  or  loud;  and  wave  your  tops,  ye  pines, 
With  every  plant  in  every  sign  of  worship  wave. 
Fountains,  and  ye  that  warble  as  ye  flow, 

Melodious  murmurs,  warbling  tune  his  praise. 

Join  voices,  all  ye  living  souls ;  ye  birds 


WORSHIP 


5 


That  singing-  up  to  heaven-gate  ascend, 

Bear  on  your  wings  and  in  your  notes  his  praise; 

Ye  that  in  waters  glide,  and  ye  that  walk 
The  earth,  and  stately  tread,  or  lowly  creep, 

Witness  if  I  be  silent,  morn  or  even, 

To  hill  or  valley,  fountain  or  fresh  shade, 

Made  vocal  by  my  song,  and  taught  his  praise. 

Hail,  universal  Lord,  be  bounteous  still 
To  give  us  only  good;  and  if  the  night 
ITave  gathered  aught  of  evil,  or  concealed, 

Disperse  it,  as  now  light  dispels  the  dark.” 

So  prayed  they  innocent,  and  to  their  thoughts 
Firm  peace  recovered  soon  and  wonted  calm. 

Book  V.  Lines  153  to  210. 


From  the  Chorus  of  ATHALIE 
Jean  Baptiste  Racine,  c.  1690 
Translated  by  Charles  Randolph 

Cho. 

The  God  whose  goodness  filleth  every  clime 
Let  all  his  creatures  worship  and  adore ; 

Whose  throne  was  reared  before  the  birth  of  Time. 
To  him  be  glory  now  and  evermore. 

* 

One  Voice : 

The  sons  of  violence  in  vain 

Would  check  his  people’s  grateful  strain, 

And  blot  his  sacred  name. 

Yet  day  to  day  his  power  declares, 

His  bounty  every  creature  shares 
His  greatness  all  proclaim. 

Another  voice: 

Dispensing  Light  and  Life  at  his  behest, 

Bursts  forth  the  sun  by  him  in  splendor  drest ; 

But  of  almighty  love  a  brighter  sign, 

Shines  forth  thy  law,  pure,  perfect  and  divine. 


512  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


ADORATION 

Madame  Guyon,  c.  1700 

I  love  my  God,  but  with  no  love  of  mine, 

For  I  have  none  to  give; 

I  love  thee,  Lord,  but  all  that  love  is  thine 
For  by  thy  life  I  live. 

I  am  as  nothing,  and  rejoice  to  be 
Emptied  and  lost  and  swallowed  up  in  thee. 

Thou,  Lord,  alone,  art  all  thy  children  need 
And  there  is  none  beside ; 

From  thee  the  streams  of  blessedness  proceed; 

In  thee  the  blest  abide, 

Fountain  of  life  and  all-abounding  grace, 

Our  source,  our  center  and  our  dwelling-place ! 


e.  evangelical  period  (Eighteenth  Century) 


WHEN  I  SURVEY  THE  WONDROUS  CROSS 

Isaac  Watts,  1707 

When  I  survey  the  wondrous  Cross, 

On  which  the  Prince  of  Glory  died, 

My  richest  gain  I  count  but  loss, 

And  pour  contempt  on  all  my  pride. 

Forbid  it,  Lord,  that  I  should  boast, 

Save  in  the  death  of  Christ,  my  God ; 

All  the  vain  things  that  charm  me  most, 

I  sacrifice  them  to  His  Blood. 

See,  from  His  head,  His  hands,  His  feet, 
Sorrow  and  love  flow  mingled  down; 


/ 


WORSHIP 


5i3 


Did  e’er  such  love  and  sorrow  meet? 

Or  thorns  compose  so  rich  a  crown? 

Were  the  whole  realm  of  nature  mine, 
That  were  a  tribute  far  too  small ; 
Love  so  amazing,  so  divine, 

Demands  my  soul,  my  life,  my  all. 


RISE,  CROWNED  WITH  LIGHT,  IMPERIAL  SALEM 

RISE! 

Alexander  Pope,  1712 

Rise,  crowned  with  light,  imperial  Salem  rise ! 

Exalt  thy  towering  head  and  lift  thine  eyes! 

See  heaven  its  sparkling  portals  wide  display, 

And  break  upon  thee  in  a  flood  of  day. 

* 

See  a  long  race  thy  spacious  courts  adorn: 

See  future  sons,  and  daughters  yet  unborn, 

In  crowding  ranks  on  every  side  arise, 

Demanding  life,  impatient  for  the  skies. 

See  barbarous  nations  at  thy  gates  attend, 

Walk  in  thy  light,  and  in  thy  temple  bend: 

See  thy  bright  altars  thronged  with  prostrate  kings, 
While  every  land  its  joyous  tribute  brings. 

The  seas  shall  waste,  the  skies  to  smoke  decay, 

Rocks  fall  to  dust,  and  mountains  melt  away ; 

But  fixed  His  word,  His  saving  power  remains ; 

Thy  realms  shall  last,  thy  own  Messiah  reigns. 


JESUS  SHALL  REIGN  WHERE’ER  THE  SUN 

Isaac  Watts,  1719 

Jesus  shall  reign  where’er  the  sun 
Does  His  successive  journeys  run; 

His  kingdom  spread  from  shore  to  shore, 

Till  moons  shall  wax  and  wane  no  more. 


\ 


514  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

From  north  to  south  the  princes  meet 
To  pay  their  homage  at  His  feet; 

While  western  empires  own  their  Lord, 

And  savage  tribes  attend  his  word. 

To  Him  shall  endless  prayers  be  made, 

And  endless  praises  crown  His  head ; 

Llis  name  like  sweet  perfume  shall  rise 
With  every  morning  sacrifice. 

People  and  realms  of  every  tongue 
Dwell  on  His  love  with  sweetest  song; 

And  infant  voices  shall  proclaim 
Their  early  blessings  on  his  name. 

Let  every  creature  rise  and  bring 
Peculiar  honors  to  our  King; 

Angels  descend  with  songs  again, 

And  earth  repeat  the  loud  Amen. 


O  GOD,  OUR  HELP  IN  AGES  PAST 
Isaac  Watts,  1719 

O  God,  our  help  in  ages  past, 

Our  hope  in  years  to  come, 

Our  shelter  from  the  stormy  blast, 
And  our  eternal  home — 

Under  the  shadow  of  thy  throne 
Thy  saints  have  dwelt  secure; 

Sufficient  is  thine  arm  alone, 

And  our  defense  is  sure. 

Before  the  hills  in  order  stood, 

Or  earth  received  her  frame, 

From  everlasting  thou  art  God, 

To  endless  years  the  same. 


WORSHIP 


5i5 


A  thousand  ages  in  thy  sight 
Are  like  an  evening  gone; 

Short  as  the  watch  that  ends  the  night 
Before  the  rising  sun. 

Time,  like  an  ever-rolling  stream 
Bears  all  its  sons  away; 

They  fly,  forgotten,  as  a  dream 
Dies  at  the  opening  day. 

Our  God,  our  help  in  ages  past, 

Our  hope  in  years  to  come, 

Be  thou  our  guard  while  troubles  last, 
And  our  eternal  home. 

DIVINE  LOVE 
Charles  Wesley,  1746 

Love  divine,  all  love  excelling, 

Joy  of  heaven,  to  earth  come  down; 

Fix  in  us  thy  humble  dwelling; 

All  thy  faithful  mercies  crown. 

Jesus,  thou  art  all  compassion, 

Pure,  unbounded  love  thou  art ; 

Visit  us  with  thy  salvation, 

Enter  every  trembling  heart. 

Breathe,  O  breathe  thy  loving  spirit 
Into  every  troubled  breast ; 

Let  us  all  in  thee  inherit, 

Let  us  find  the  promised  rest; 

Take  away  the  love  of  sinning, 

Alpha  and  Omega  be, 

End  of  faith,  as  its  beginning, 

Set  our  hearts  at  liberty. 

Come,  Almighty  to  deliver, 

Let  us  all  thy  life  receive; 

Suddenly  return,  and  never, 
Nevermore  thy  temples  leave. 


516  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


Thee  we  would  be  always  blessing; 

Serve  thee  as  thy  hosts  above ; 

Pray,  and  praise  thee  without  ceasing; 
Glory  in  thy  perfect  love. 

Finish,  then,  thy  new  creation, 

Pure  and  spotless  may  we  be; 

Let  us  see  thy  great  salvation 
Perfectly  restored  in  thee; 

Changed  from  glory  into  glory, 

Till  in  heaven  we  take  our  place : 

Till  we  cast  our  crowns  before  thee, 
Lost  in  wonder,  love,  and  praise ! 


JESUS,  LOVER  OF  MY  SOUL 

Charles  Wesley,  1740 

Jesus,  Lover  of  my  soul, 

Let  me  to  Thy  bosom  fly, 

While  the  nearer  waters  roll, 

While  the  tempest  still  is  high: 
Hide  me,  O  my  Saviour,  hide, 

Till  the  storm  of  life  is  past; 
Safe  into  the  haven  guide, 

O,  receive  my  soul  at  last ! 

Other  refuge  have  I  none ; 

Hangs  my  helpless  soul  on  Thee; 
Leave,  ah,  leave  me  not  alone, 

Still  support  and  comfort  me ! 

All  my  trust  on  Thee  is  stayed, 

All  my  help  from  Thee  I  bring; 
Cover  my  defenseless  head 

With  the  shadow  of  Thy  wing. 

Thou,  O  Christ,  art  all  I  want; 

More  than  all  in  Thee  I  find : 
Raise  the  fallen,  cheer  the  faint, 
Heal  the  sick,  and  lead  the  blind. 


WORSHIP 


5i7 


Just  and  holy  is  Thy  name; 

I  am  all  unrighteousness ; 

False  and  full  of  sin  I  am, 

Thou  art  full  of  truth  and  grace. 

Plenteous  grace  with  Thee  is  found, 
Grace  to  cover  all  my  sin; 

Let  the  healing  streams  abound; 

Make  and  keep  me  pure  within 
Thou  of  life  the  fountain  art, 

Freely  let  me  take  of  Thee; 
Spring  thou  up  within  my  heart, 
Rise  to  all  eternity. 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  HEAVENLY  KING 

John  Cennick,  1743 

Children  of  the  heavenly  King, 

As  ye  journey,  sweetly  sing! 

Sing  your  Saviour’s  worthy  praise, 
Glorious  in  His  works  and  ways ! 

We  are  traveling  home  to  God, 

In  the  way  the  fathers  trod : 

They  are  happy  now,  and  we 
Soon  their  happiness  shall  see. 

Lift  your  eyes,  ye  sons  of  light! 

Zion’s  city  is  in  sight : 

There  our  endless  home  shall  be, 

There  our  Lord  we  soon  shall  see0 

Fear  not,  brethren;  joyful  stand 
On  the  borders  of  your  land ; 

Jesus  Christ,  your  Father’s  Son, 

Bids  you  undismayed  go  on. 

Lord,  obediently  we  go, 

Gladly  leaving  all  below; 


5 18  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

Only  Thou  our  leader  be, 

And  we  still  will  follow  Thee. 


THE  CHRISTIAN  PILGRIM’S  HYMN 

William  Williams,  1745 

Guide  me,  O  thou  great  Jehovah, 
Pilgrim  through  this  barren  land : 

I  am  weak  but  thou  art  mighty; 

Hold  me  with  thy  powerful  hand: 
Bread  of  heaven!  Bread  of  heaven! 
Feed  me  now  and  evermore ! 

Open  now  the  crystal  fountain 

Whence  the  healing  streams  do  flow; 
Let  the  fiery  cloudy  pillar 

Lead  me  all  my  journey  through: 
Strong  Deliverer  !  Strong  Deliverer ! 
Be  thou  still  my  strength  and  shield. 

When  I  tread  the  verge  of  Jordan, 

Bid  my  anxious  fears  subside; 

Death  of  deaths,  and  hell’s  destruction, 
Land  me  safe  on  Canaan’s  side : 

Songs  of  praises,  songs  of  praises, 

I  will  ever  give  to  thee. 

Musing  on  my  habitation, 

Musing  on  my  heavenly  home, 

Fills  my  soul  with  holy  longing; 

Come,  my  Jesus,  quickly  come! 

Vanity  is  all  I  see; 

Lord,  I  long  to  be  with  thee ! 


WORSHIP 


5i9 


ADESTE  FIDELES 

Anonymous,  1751 

Translated  by  Frederick  Oakeley 

O  come,  all  ye  faithful, 

Joyful  and  triumphant; 

O  come  ye,  O  come  ye  to  Bethlehem; 

Come  and  behold  Him 
Born,  the  King  of  Angels ; 

O  come,  let  us  adore  Him, 

O  come,  let  us  adore  Him, 

O  come,  let  us  adore  Him,  Christ  the  Lord. 

God  of  God, 

Light  of  Light, 

Lo  !  He  abhors  not  the  Virgin’s  womb; 
Very  God, 

Begotten,  not  created; 

O  come,  let  us  adore  Him, 

O  come,  let  us  adore  Him, 

O  come,  let  us  adore  Him,  Christ  the  Lord. 

Sing,  choirs  of  angels; 

Sing  in  exultation, 

Sing,  all  ye  citizens  of  Heav’n  above : 
“Glory  to  God 
All  glory  in  the  highest” ; 

O  come,  let  us  adore  Him, 

O  come,  let  us  adore  Him, 

O  come,  let  us  adore  Him,  Christ  the  Lord. 

Yea,  Lord,  we  greet  Thee, 

Born  this  happy  morning; 

Jesu,  to  Thee  be  glory  given; 

Word  of  the  Father, 

Now  in  flesh  appearing; 

O  come,  let  us  adore  Him, 

O  come,  let  us  adore  Him, 

O  come,  let  us  adore  Him,  Christ  the  Lord. 


520 


THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


AWAKE,  MY  SOUL! 

Philip  Doddridge 

Awake,  my  soul ;  stretch  every  nerve, 

And  press  with  vigor  on : 

A  heavenly  race  demands  thy  zeal, 

And  an  immortal  crown. 

A  cloud  of  witnesses  around 
Hold  thee  in  full  survey; 

Forget  the  steps  already  trod, 

And  onward  urge  thy  way. 

’Tis  God’s  all-animating  voice 
That  calls  thee  from  on  high ; 

’Tis  his  own  hand  presents  the  prize 
To  thine  aspiring  eye, — 

That  prize,  with  peerless  glories  bright, 
Which  shall  new  lustre  boast 

When  victors’  wreaths  and  monarchs’  gems 
Shall  blend  in  common  dust. 


COME,  THOU  ALMIGHTY  KING 

Charles  Wesley,  c.  1757 

Come,  Thou  almighty  King, 

Help  us  Thy  name  to  sing, 

Help  us  to  praise : 

Father  All-glorious, 

O’er  all  victorious, 

Come,  and  reign  over  us, 

Ancient  of  Days. 

Come,  Thou  incarnate  Word, 

Gird  on  Thy  mighty  sword, 

Our  prayer  attend : 


WORSHIP 


52i 


Come,  and  Thy  people  bless, 
And  give  Thy  word  success : 
Spirit  of  holiness, 

On  us  descend. 

Come,  holy  Comforter 
Thy  sacred  witness  bear 
In  this  glad  hour : 

Thou  who  almighty  art, 
Now  rule  in  every  heart, 
And  ne’er  from  us  depart, 
Spirit  of  power. 


ROCK  OF  AGES 

Augustus  M.  Toplady,  1776 

Rock  of  Ages,  cleft  for  me, 

Let  me  hide  myself  in  thee; 

Let  the  water  and  the  blood, 

From  thy  wounded  side  which  flowed, 
Be  of  sin  the  double  cure, 

Save  from  wrath  and  make  me  pure. 

Could  my  tears  forever  flow, 

Could  my  zeal  no  languor  know, 
These  for  sin  could  not  atone; 

Thou  must  save  and  thou  alone : 

In  my  hand  no  price  I  bring; 

Simply  to  thy  cross  I  cling. 

While  I  draw  this  fleeting  breath, 
When  my  eyes  shall  close  in  death, 
When  I  rise  to  worlds  unknown, 
And  behold  thee  on  thy  throne, 

Rock  of  Ages,  cleft  for  me, 

Let  me  hide  myself  in  thee. 


522 


THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


CORONATION 
(The  English  Te  Deum) 
Edward  Perronet,  1779 

All  hail  the  Power  of  Jesus’  name ! 
Let  angels  prostrate  fall ; 

Bring  forth  the  royal  diadem, 

And  crown  Him  Lord  of  all ! 

Crown  Him,  ye  martyrs  of  your  God, 
Who  from  His  altar  call; 

Extol  the  stem  of  Jesse’s  rod, 

And  crown  Him  Lord  of  all. 

Ye  seed  of  Israel’s  chosen  race, 

Ye  ransomed  from  the  Fall, 

Hail  Him  who  saves  you  by  His  grace. 
And  crown  Him  Lord  of  all. 

Sinners,  whose  love  can  ne’er  forget 
The  wormwood  and  the  gall, 

Go,  spread  your  trophies  at  His  feet, 
And  crown  Him  Lord  of  all. 

Let  every  kindred,  every  tribe, 

On  this  terrestrial  ball, 

To  Him  all  majesty  ascribe, 

And  crown  Him  Lord  of  all. 

Oh  that  with  yonder  sacred  throng 
We  at  His  feet  may  fall, 

Join  in  the  everlasting  song, 

And  crown  Him  Lord  of  all ! 


WORSHIP 


523 


GLORIOUS  THINGS  OF  THEE  ARE  SPOKEN 

John  Newton,  1779 

Glorious  things  of  thee  are  spoken, 

Zion,  city  of  our  God; 

He,  whose  word  cannot  be  broken, 

Form’d  thee  for  His  own  abode ; 

On  the  Rock  of  Ages  founded, 

What  can  shake  thy  sure  repose? 

With  Salvation’s  walls  surrounded, 

Thou  may’st  smile  at  all  thy  foes. 

See,  the  streams  of  living  waters 
Springing  from  eternal  love, 

Well  supply  thy  sons  and  daughters, 

And  all  fear  of  want  remove. 

Who  can  faint  while  such  a  river 
Ever  flows  their  thirst  t’assuage. 

Grace,  which,  like  the  Lord,  the  Giver, 

Never  fails  from  age  to  age? 

Round  each  habitation  hovering, 

See  the  cloud  and  fire  appear 

For  a  glory  and  a  covering, 

Showing  that  the  Lord  is  near; 

Thus  deriving  from  their  banner, 

Light  by  night  and  shade  by  day, 

Safe  they  feed  upon  the  manna 
Which  he  gives  them  when  they  pray. 

Blest  inhabitants  of  Zion, 

Washed  in  their  Redeemer’s  blood! 

Jesus  whom  their  souls  rely  on, 

Makes  them  kings  and  priests  to  God. 

Tis  his  love  His  people  raises 
Over  self  to  reign  as  kings: 

And  as  priests,  His  solemn  praises 
Each  for  a  thank-offering  brings. 


524  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


HOW  FIRM  A  FOUNDATION 

“K.”  in  Rippon’s  Selections,  1787 

How  firm  a  foundation,  ye  saints  of  the  Lord, 

Is  laid  for  your  faith  in  His  excellent  word ! 

What  more  can  He  say  than  to  you  He  hath  said, 

You  who  unto  Jesus  for  refuge  have  fled? 

“Fear  not,  I  am  with  thee,  O  be  not  dismayed; 

I,  I  am  thy  God,  and  will  still  give  thee  aid ; 

I’ll  strengthen  thee,  help  thee,  and  cause  thee  to  stand, 
Upheld  by  My  righteous,  omnipotent  hand. 

“When  through  the  deep  waters  I  call  thee  to  go. 

The  rivers  of  sorrow  shall  not  overflow; 

For  I  will  be  with  thee  thy  troubles  to  bless, 

And  sanctify  to  thee  thy  deepest  distress. 

“When  through  fiery  trials  thy  pathway  shall  lie, 

My  grace,  all-sufficient,  shall  be  thy  supply, 

The  flame  shall  not  hurt  thee ;  I  only  design 
Thy  dross  to  consume,  and  thy  gold  to  refine. 

“E’en  down  to  old  age  all  My  people  shall  prove 
My  sovereign,  eternal,  unchangeable  love; 

And  when  hoary  hairs  shall  their  temples  adorn, 

Like  lambs  they  shall  still  in  My  bosom  be  borne. 

“The  soul  that  on  Jesus  hath  leaned  for  repose, 

I  will  not,  I  will  not  desert  to  his  foes; 

That  soul,  though  all  hell  should  endeavor  to  shake, 
I’ll  never,  no,  never,  no,  never  forsake.” 


WORSHIP 


525 


/.  NINETEENTH  CENTURY 

BRIGHTEST  AND  BEST  OF  THE  SONS  OF  THE 

MORNING 

Reginald  Heber,  1811 

Brightest  and  best  of  the  sons  of  the  morning, 

-  Dawn  on  our  darkness,  and  lend  us  thine  aid ! 

Star  of  the  east,  the  horizon  adorning, 

Guide  where  our  infant  Redeemer  is  laid ! 

Cold  on  His  cradle  the  dewdrops  are  shining; 

Low  lies  His  head  with  the  beasts  of  the  stall; 

Angels  adore  Him  in  slumber  reclining, 

Maker  and  Monarch  and  Saviour  of  all. 

Say,  shall  we  yield  Him,  in  costly  devotion, 

Odors  of  Edom  and  offerings  divine, 

Gems  of  the  mountain  and  pearls  of  the  ocean, 
Myrrh  from  the  forest,  or  gold  from  the  mine? 

Vainly  we  offer  each  ample  oblation, 

Vainly  with  gifts  would  His  favor  secure; 

Richer  by  far  is  the  heart’s  adoration, 

Dearer  to  God  are  the  prayers  of  the  poor. 

Brightest  and  best  of  the  sons  of  the  morning, 

Dawn  on  our  darkness,  and  lend  us  thine  aid ! 

Star  of  the  east,  the  horizon  adorning, 

Guide  where  our  infant  Redeemer  is  laid ! 


For  the  Majesty  and  Mercy  of  God,  by  Sir  Robert  Grant ,  181^ 
(See  Section  III  d). 


526  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


FROM  GREENLAND’S  ICY  MOUNTAINS 

Reginald  Heber,  1819 

From  Greenland’s  icy  mountains, 

From  India’s  coral  strand, 

Where  Afric’s  sunny  fountains 
Roll  down  their  golden  sand, 

From  many  an  ancient  river, 

From  many  a  palmy  plain, 

They  call  us  to  deliver 

Their  land  from  error’s  chain. 

What  though  the  spicy  breezes 
Blow  soft  o’er  Ceylon’s  isle; 

Though  every  prospect  pleases, 

And  only  man  is  vile ; 

In  vain,  with  lavish  kindness. 

The  gifts  of  God  are  strown; 

The  heathen  in  his  blindness, 

Bows  down  to  wood  and  stone. 

Can  we,  whose  souls  are  lighted 
With  wisdom  from  on  high, — 

Can  we  to  men  benighted 
The  lamp  of  life  deny? 

Salvation  !  O  salvation  ! 

The  joyful  sound  proclaim, 

Till  each  remotest  nation 

Lias  learned  Messiah’s  name. 

Waft,  waft,  ye  winds,  His  story; 

And  you,  ye  waters,  roll, 

Till  like  a  sea  of  glory, 

It  spreads  from  pole  to  pole; 

Till,  o’er  our  ransomed  nature, 

The  Lamb  for  sinners  slain 
Redeemer,  King,  Creator, 

In  bliss  return  to  reign. 


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527 


IN  THE  CROSS  OF  CHRIST  I  GLORY 
John  Bowring,  1825 

In  the  cross  of  Christ  I  glory, 

Towering  o’er  the  wrecks  of  time; 

All  the  light  of  sacred  story 
Gathers  round  its  head  sublime. 

When  the  woes  of  life  o’ertake  me, 

Hopes  deceive  and  fears  annoy, 

Never  shall  the  cross  forsake  me: 

Lo,  it  glows  with  peace  and  joy. 

When  the  sun  of  bliss  is  beaming 
Light  and  love  upon  my  way, 

From  the  cross  the  radiance  streaming 
Adds  more  luster  to  the  day. 

Bane  and  blessing,  pain  and  pleasure, 

By  thy  cross  are  sanctified; 

Peace  there  is  that  knows  no  measure, 
Joys  that  through  all  time  abide. 

In  the  cross  of  Christ  I  glory, 

Towering  o’er  the  wrecks  of  time; 

All  the  light  of  sacred  story 
Gathers  round  its  head  sublime. 


ETERNAL  LIGHT ! 

Thomas  Binney,  1826 

Eternal  Light !  Eternal  Light ! 

How  pure  the  soul  must  be, 

When,  placed  within  Thy  searching  sight 
It  shrinks  not,  but,  with  calm  delight 
Can  live,  and  look  on  thee ! 


528  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

The  spirits  that  surround  Thy  throne, 

May  bear  the  burning  bliss; 

But  that  is  surely  theirs  alone, 

Since  they  have  never,  never  known 
A  fallen  world  like  this. 

O !  how  shall  I,  whose  native  sphere 
Is  dark,  whose  mind  is  dim, 

Before  the  Ineffable  appear, 

And  on  my  naked  spirit  bear 
That  uncreated  beam? 

There  is  a  way  for  man  to  rise 
To  that  sublime  abode: — 

An  offering  and  a  sacrifice, 

A  Holy  Spirit’s  energies, 

An  Advocate  with  God : — 

These,  these  prepare  us  for  the  sight 
Of  Holiness  above : 

The  sons  of  ignorance  and  night 
May  dwell  in  the  Eternal  Light, 

Through  the  Eternal  Love  !  Amen0 


FULFILLMENT 

William  A.  Muhlenberg,  1826 

Oh,  cease,  my  wandering  soul, 

On  restless  wing  to  roam : 

All  this  wide  world,  to  either  pole, 
Hath  not  for  thee  a  home. 

Behold  the  ark  of  God ! 

Behold  the  open  door ! 

Oh,  haste  to  gain  that  dear  abode, 
And  rove,  my  soul,  no  more. 


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There  safe  shalt  thou  abide 
There  sweet  shall  be  thy  rest; 

And  every  longing  satisfied 
With  full  salvation  blest. 

For  Who  Follows  in  His  Train ?  by  Reginald  Heber,  1827 
( See  Section  VI  d). 

THRICE  HOLY 

Reginald  Heber,  1827 

Holy,  Holy,  Holy,  Lord  God  Almighty ! 

Early  in  the  morning  our  song  shall  rise  to  thee : 

Holy,  Holy,  Holy !  Merciful  and  mighty ! 

God  in  three  persons,  blessed  Trinity! 

Holy,  Holy,  Holy !  all  the  saints  adore  thee, 

Casting  down  their  golden  crowns  around  the  glassy  sea; 
Cherubim  and  seraphim  falling  down  before  thee, 

Which  wert  and  art  and  evermore  shall  be ! 

Holy,  Holy,  Holy !  though  the  darkness  hide  thee, 

Though  the  eye  of  sinful  man  thy  glory  may  not  see, 

Only  thou  art  Lloly,  there  is  none  beside  thee, 

Perfect  in  power,  in  love  and  purity ! 

Holy,  Holy,  Holy !  Lord  God  Almighty ! 

All  thy  works  shall  praise  thy  name,  in  earth  and  sky  and  sea : 
Holy,  Holy,  Holy !  Merciful  and  Mighty ! 

God  in  three  persons,  blessed  Trinity! 

MY  FAITH  LOOKS  UP  TO  THEE 

Ray  Palmer,  1830 

My  faith  looks  up  to  Thee, 

Thou  Lamb  of  Calvary, 

Savior  Divine; 


THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


Now  hear  me  while  I  pray; 

Take  all  my  guilt  away ; 

O,  let  me  from  this  day 
Be  wholly  Thine ! 

May  Thy  rich  grace  impart 
Strength  to  my  fainting  heart, 

My  zeal  inspire; 

As  thou  hast  died  for  me, 

O,  may  my  love  to  Thee 
Pure,  warm  and  changeless  be, 

A  living  fire ! 

While  life’s  dark  maze  I  tread, 
And  griefs  around  me  spread, 

Be  thou  my  guide; 

Bid  darkness  turn  to  day, 

Wipe  sorrow’s  tears  away, 

Nor  let  me  ever  stray 
From  Thee  aside. 

When  ends  life’s  transient  dream, 
When  death’s  cold  sullen  stream 
Shall  o’er  me  roll; 

Blest  Savior  then,  in  love, 

Fear  and  distrust  remove; 

O,  bear  me  safe  above, 

A  ransomed  soul ! 


THE  MORNING  LIGHT  IS  BREAKING 

Samuel  F.  Smith,  1832 

The  morning  light  is  breaking; 

The  darkness  disappears; 

The  sons  of  earth  are  waking, 

To  penitential  tears; 

Each  breeze  that  sweeps  the  ocean 
Brings  tidings  from  afar. 


WORSHIP 


53i 


Of  nations  in  commotion, 
Prepared  for  Zion’s  war. 

See  heathen  nations  bending 
Before  the  God  we  love, 

And  thousand  hearts  ascending 
In  gratitude  above ; 

While  sinners  now  confessing, 

The  Gospel  call  obey, 

And  seek  the  Saviour’s  blessing, 
A  nation  in  a  day. 

Blest  river  of  salvation ! 

Pursue  thy  onward  way; 

Flow  thou  to  every  nation, 

Nor  in  thy  richness  stay; 

Stay  not  till  all  the  lowly 
Triumphant  reach  their  home; 

Stay  not  till  all  the  holy 
Proclaim,  “The  Lord  is  come !” 


TPIE  PILGRIM  FATHERS 

Leonard  Bacon,  1833 

Oh,  God,  beneath  thy  guiding  hand 
Our  exiled  fathers  crossed  the  sea; 

And  when  they  trod  the  wintry  strand, 

With  prayer  and  psalm  they  worshipped  Thee. 

Thou  heard’st,  well  pleased,  the  song,  the  prayer; 

Thy  blessing  came  and  still  its  power 
Shall  onward  through  all  ages  bear 
The  memory  of  that  holy  hour. 

Laws,  freedom,  truth,  and  faith  in  God 
Came  with  those  exiles  o’er  the  waves, 

And  where  their  pilgrim  feet  have  trod, 

The  God  they  trusted  guards  their  graves. 


532 


THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


And  here  thy  name,  Oh,  God  of  love, 
Their  children’s  children  shall  adore, 
Till  these  eternal  hills  remove, 

And  spring  adorns  the  earth  no  more. 


THE  CHURCH’S  ONE  FOUNDATION 
Samuel  J.  Stone,  1866 

The  Church’s  one  foundation 
Is  Jesus  Christ  her  Lord; 

She  is  His  new  creation 
By  water  and  the  word ; 

From  heaven  He  came  and  sought  her 
To  be  His  holy  bride; 

With  His  own  blood  He  bought  her., 
And  for  her  life  He  died. 

Elect  from  every  nation, 

Yet  one  o’er  all  the  earth, 

Her  charter  of  salvation 

One  Lord,  one  faith,  one  birth; 

One  holy  name  she  blesses, 

Partakes  one  holy  food, 

And  to  one  hope  she  presses, 

With  every  grace  endued. 

’Mid  toil  and  tribulation, 

And  tumult  of  her  war, 

She  waits  the  consummation 
Of  peace  for  evermore; 

Till  with  the  vision  glorious 
Pier  longing  eyes  are  blest, 

And  the  great  church  victorious 
Shall  be  the  church  at  rest. 

Yet  she  on  earth  hath  union 
With  Father,  Spirit,  Son, 

And  mystic  sweet  communion 
With  those  whose  rest  is  won; 


WORSHIP 


533 


O  happy  ones  and  holy ! 

Lord,  give  us  grace  that  we, 
Like  them  the  meek  and  lowly, 
On  high  may  dwell  with  Thee. 


NEARER,  MY  GOD,  TO  THEE 

Sarah  Flower  Adams,  1841 

Nearer,  my  God,  to  Thee, 
Nearer  to  Thee ! 

E’en  though  it  be  a  cross 
That  raiseth  me; 

Still  all  my  song  shall  be, 
Nearer,  my  God,  to  Thee, 
Nearer  to  Thee ! 

Though  like  the  wanderer, 

The  sun  gone  down, 

Darkness  be  over  me. 

My  rest  a  stone; 

Yet  in  my  dreams  I’d  be 
Nearer,  my  God,  to  Thee, 
Nearer  to  Thee ! 

There  let  my  way  appear 
Steps  unto  heaven; 

All  that  Thou  sendest  me 
In  mercy  given; 

Angels  to  beckon  me 
Nearer,  my  God,  to  Thee, 
Nearer  to  Thee ! 

Then,  with  my  waking  thoughts 
Bright  with  Thy  praise, 

Out  of  my  stony  griefs, 

Altars  I’ll  raise; 

So  by  my  woes  to  be 
Nearer,  my  God,  to  Thee, 
Nearer  to  Thee ! 


534  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

Or,  if  on  joyful  wing, 

Cleaving  the  sky, 

Sun,  moon,  and  stars  forgot. 

Upward  I  fly. 

Still  all  my  song  shall  be 
Nearer,  my  God,  to  Thee, 

Nearer  to  Thee ! 


/ 


HARVEST  HOME 

Henry  Alford,  1844 

Come,  ye  thankful  people,  come 
Raise  the  song  of  Harvest  Home ! 
All  is  safely  gathered  in, 

Ere  the  winter  storms  begin; 

God,  the  maker,  doth  provide, 

For  our  wants  to  be  supplied; 

Come  to  God’s  own  temple,  come; 
Raise  the  song  of  Harvest  Home ! 

What  is  earth  but  God’s  own  field, 
Fruit  unto  His  praise  to  yield? 
Wheat  and  tares  therein  are  sown, 
Unto  joy  or  sorrow  grown; 
Ripening  with  a  wondrous  power, 
Till  the  final  Harvest  hour: 

Grant,  Oh,  Lord  of  life,  that  we 
Holy  grain  and  pure  may  be. 

For  we  know  that  thou  wilt  come, 
And  wilt  take  thy  people  home; 
From  thy  field  wilt  purge  away 
All  that  doth  offend,  that  day; 

And  thine  angels  charge  at  last 
In  the  fires  the  tares  to  cast, 

But  the  fruitful  ears  to  store 
In  thy  garner  evermore. 


WORSHIP 


535 


Come,  then,  Lord  of  mercy,  come, 
Bid  us  sing  thy  Harvest  Home ! 
Let  thy  saints  be  gathered  in, 

Free  from  sorrow,  free  from  sin; 
All  upon  the  golden  floor 
Praising  thee  forevermore ; 

Come,  with  thousand  angels,  come; 
Bid  us  sing  thy  Harvest  Home ! 


ABIDE  WITH  ME 

Henry  F.  Lyte,  1847 

Abide  with  me !  Fast  falls  the  eventide, 

The  darkness  deepens :  Lord,  with  me  abide ! 

When  other  helpers  fail,  and  comforts  flee, 

Help  of  the  helpless,  O,  abide  with  me ! 

Swift  to  its  close  ebbs  out  life’s  little  day; 

Earth’s  joys  grow  dim,  its  glories  pass  away; 

Change  and  decay  in  all  around  I  see ; 

O  thou,  who  changest  not,  abide  with  me ! 

I  need  thy  presence  every  passing  hour; 

What  but  thy  grace  can  foil  the  tempter’s  power? 

Who,  like  thyself,  my  guide  and  stay  can  be? 

Through  cloud  and  sunshine,  Lord,  abide  with  me ! 

I  fear  no  foe,  with  thee  at  hand  to  bless; 

Ills  have  no  weight,  and  tears  no  bitterness; 

Where  is  death’s  sting?  where,  grave,  thy  victory? 

I  triumph  still,  if  thou  abide  with  me. 

Hold  thou  thy  cross  before  my  closing  eyes; 

Shine  through  the  gloom  and  point  me  to  the  skies; 
Heaven’s  morning  breaks,  and  earth’s  vain  shadows  flee 
In  life,  in  death-  O  Lord,  abide  with  me ! 


536  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


THERE  IS  A  GREEN  HILL  FAR  AWAY 
Cecil  F.  Alexander,  1848 

There  is  a  green  hill  far  away, 

Without  a  city  wall, 

Where  the  dear  Lord  was  crucified, 

Who  died  to  save  us  all. 

We  may  not  know,  we  cannot  tell, 

What  pains  he  had  to  bear; 

But  we  believe  it  was  for  us 
He  hung  and  suffered  there. 

He  died  that  we  might  be  forgiven, 

He  died  to  make  us  good, 

That  we  might  go  at  last  to  heaven, 
Saved  by  His  precious  blood. 

There  was,„no  other  good  enough 
To  pay  the  price  of  sin; 

He  only  could  unlock  the  gate 
Of  heaven  and  let  us  in. 

Oh  dearly,  dearly  has  He  loved, 

And  we  must  love  Him,  too, 

And  trust  in  His  redeeming  blood, 

And  try  His  works  to  do. 


GOD  OUR  FATHER 

Frederick  W.  Faber,  1854 

Souls  of  men!  why  will  ye  scatter 
Like  a  crowd  of  frightened  sheep? 
Foolish  hearts !  why  will  ye  wander 
From  a  love  so  true  and  deep? 

It  is  God :  His  love  looks  mighty 


WORSHIP 


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But  is  mightier  than  it  seems; 

’Tis  our  father;  and  His  fondness 
Goes  far  out  beyond  our  dreams. 

There’s  a  wideness  in  God’s  mercy 
Like  the  wideness  of  the  sea; 

There’s  a  kindness  in  his  justice, 

Which  is  more  than  liberty. 

There  is  no  place  where  earth’s  sorrows 
Are  more  felt  than  up  in  heaven : 

There  is  no  place  where  earth’s  failings 
Have  such  kindly  judgment  given. 

There  is  grace  enough  for  thousands 
Of  new  worlds  as  great  as  this; 

There  is  room  for  fresh  creations 
In  that  upper  home  of  bliss : 

For  the  love  of  God  is  broader 
Than  the  measure  of  man’s  mind, 

And  the  heart  of  the  Eternal 
Is  most  wonderfully  kind. 

But  we  make  His  love  too  narrow 
By  false  limits  of  our  own; 

And  we  magnify  His  strictness 
With  a  zeal  He  will  not  own. 

If  our  love  were  but  more  simple, 

We  should  take  Him  at  his  word; 

And  our  lives  would  be  all  sunshine 
In  the  sweetness  of  our  Lord. 


LIFT  UP  YOUR  HEADS,  REJOICE! 

Thomas  T.  Lynch,  1856 

Lift  up  your  heads,  rejoice, 

Redemption  draweth  nigh ! 

Now  breathes  a  softer  air, 

Now  shines  a  milder  sky; 


538  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

The  early  trees  put  forth 
Their  new  and  tender  leaf; 

Hushed  is  the  moaning  wind 
That  told  of  winter’s  grief. 

Lift  up  your  heads,  rejoice, 

Redemption  draweth  nigh ! 

Now  mount  the  leaden  clouds, 

Now  flames  the  darkening  sky; 

The  early  scattered  drops 
Descend  with  heavy  fall, 

And  to  the  waiting  earth 
The  hidden  thunders  call. 

Lift  up  your  heads,  rejoice, 

Redemption  draweth  nigh ! 

O  note  the  varying  signs 
Of  earth,  and  air,  and  sky; 

The  God  of  glory  comes 
In  gentleness  and  might, 

To  comfort  and  alarm, 

To  succor  and  to  smite. 

He  comes,  the  wide  world’s  King, 

He  comes,  the  true  heart’s  Friend, 

New  gladness  to  begin, 

And  ancient  wrong  to  end; 

He  comes,  to  fill  with  light 

The  weary  waiting  eye : 

Lift  up  your  heads,  rejoice, 

Redemption  draweth  nigh. 


HE  LEADETH  ME 

Joseph  H.  Gilmore,  1859 

He  leadeth  me  !  Oh,  blessed  thought ! 
Oh  words  with  heavenly  comfort  fraught! 
Whate’er  I  do,  where’er  I  be, 

Still  ’tis  God’s  hand  that  leadeth  me. 


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He  leadeth  me  !  He  leadeth  me  ! 

By  His  own  hand  He  leadeth  me; 

His  faithful  follower  I  would  be, 

For  by  His  hand  He  leadeth  me. 

Sometimes  ’mid  scenes  of  deepest  gloom, 
Sometimes  where  Eden’s  bowers  bloom, 
By  waters  calm,  o’er  troubled  sea, 

Still  ’tis  God’s  hand  that  leadeth  me. 

Lord,  I  would  clasp  Thy  hand  in  mine; 
Nor  ever  murmur  nor  repine ; 

Content,  whatever  lot  I  see, 

Since  ’tis  God’s  hand  that  leadeth  me. 

And  when  my  task  on  earth  is  done, 
When,  by  Thy  grace,  the  victory’s  won, 
E’en  death’s  cold  wave  I  will  not  flee, 
Since  Thou  through  Jordan  leadest  me. 


A  SUN-DAY  HYMN 

Oliver  Wendell  Holmes,  i860 

Lord  of  all  being,  throned  afar, 

Thy  glory  flames  from  sun  and  star: 
Center  and  soul  of  every  sphere, 

Yet  to  each  loving  heart  how  near! 

Sun  of  our  life,  thy  quickening  ray 
Sheds  on  our  path  the  glow  of  day; 
Star  of  our  hope,  thy  softened  light 
Cheers  the  long  watches  of  the  night. 

Our  midnight  is  thy  smile  withdrawn ; 
Our  noontide  is  thy  gracious  dawn; 

Our  rainbow  arch  thy  mercy’s  sign; 
All,  save  the  clouds  of  sin,  are  thine. 


THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


Lord  of  all  life,  below,  above 

Whose  light  is  truth,  whose  warmth  is  love, 

Before  thy  ever-blazing  throne 

We  ask  no  luster  of  our  own. 

Grant  us  thy  truth  to  make  us  free, 

And  kindling  hearts  that  burn  for  thee, 

Till  all  thy  living  altars  claim 
One  holy  light,  one  heavenly  flame. 


CITY  OF  GOD 
Samuel  Johnson,  i860 

City  of  God,  how  broad  and  far 
Out-spread  thy  walls  sublime  ! 

The  true  thy  chartered  free  men  are 
Of  every  age  and  clime. 

One  holy  Church,  one  army  strong, 

One  steadfast  high  intent, 

One  working  band,  one  harvest  song, 

One  King  omnipotent ! 

How  purely  hath  thy  speech  come  down 
From  man’s  primeval  youth; 

How  grandly  hath  thine  empire  grown 
Of  freedom,  love,  and  truth ! 

How  gleam  thy  watchfires  through  the  night 
With  never-fainting  ray! 

How  rise  thy  towers,  serene  and  bright, 

To  meet  the  dawning  day ! 

In  vain  the  surge’s  angry  shock, 

In  vain  the  drifting  sands: 

Unharmed  upon  the  eternal  Rock 
The  eternal  City  stands. 


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O  DAY  OF  REST  AND  GLADNESS 
Christopher  Wordsworth,  1862 

O  day  of  rest  and  gladness, 

O  day  of  joy  and  light, 

O  balm  of  care  and  sadness, 

Most  beautiful,  most  bright ! 

On  Thee  the  high  and  lowly, 

Through  ages  joined  in  tune, 

Sing,  “Holy,  holy,  holy!" 

To  the  great  God  triune. 

Thou  art  a  port  protected 

From  storms  that  round  us  rise; 

A  garden  intersected 

With  streams  of  paradise; 

Thou  art  a  cooling  fountain 
In  life’s  dry  dreary  sand; 

From  thee,  like  Pisgah’s  mountain, 

We  view  our  promised  land. 

Today  on  weary  nations 
The  heavenly  manna  falls; 

To  holy  convocations 

The  silver  trumpet  calls; 

Where  gospel  light  is  glowing 
With  pure  and  radiant  beams, 

And  living  water  flowing 

With  soul-refreshing  streams. 

A  day  of  sweet  reflection 
Thou  art, — a  day  of  love, 

A  day  of  resurrection 

From  earth  to  things  above. 

New  graces  ever  gaining 
From  this  our  day  of  rest, 

We  reach  the  rest  remaining 
To  spirits  of  the  blest. 


542  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


FUNERAL  HYMN 

William  Walsham  Howe,  1864 

For  all  the  saints  who  from  their  labors  rest, 

Who  thee  by  faith  before  the  world  confessed, 

Thy  Name,  O  Jesus,  be  forever  blessed. 

Alleluia. 

Thou  wast  their  rock,  their  fortress  and  their  might: 
Thou,  Lord,  their  Captain  in  the  well-fought  fight; 
Thou  in  the  darkness  drear,  the  one  true  Light. 

Alleluia. 

O  may  thy  soldiers,  faithful,  true  and  bold, 

Fight  as  the  saints  who  nobly  fought  of  old, 

And  win,  with  them,  the  victor’s  crown  of  gold. 

Alleluia. 

O  blest  communion,  fellowship  divine ! 

We  feebly  struggle ;  they  in  glory  shine; 

Yet  all  are  one  in  Thee,  for  all  are  thine. 

Alleluia. 

And  when  the  strife  is  fierce,  the  warfare  long, 
Steals  on  the  ear  the  distant  triumph  song, 

And  hearts  are  brave  again,  and  arms  are  strong. 

Alleluia. 

The  golden  evening  brightens  in  the  west; 

Soon,  to  faithful  warriors  cometh  rest; 

Sweet  is  the  calm  of  paradise  the  blest. 

Alleluia. 

But  lo !  there  breaks  a  yet  more  glorious  day; 

The  saints  triumphant  rise  in  bright  array; 

The  King  of  glory  passes  on  His  way. 

Alleluia. 


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From  earth’s  wide  bounds,  from  ocean’s  farthest  coast, 
Through  gates  of  pearl  streams  in  the  countless  host, 
Singing  to  the  Father,  Son  and  Holy  Ghost, 

Alleluia,  Amen. 


FROM  OUR  MASTER 
John  Greenleaf  Whittier,  1866 

Immortal  Love,  forever  full, 

Forever  flowing  free, 

Forever  shared,  forever  whole, 

A  never-ebbing  sea ! 

We  may  not  climb  the  heavenly  steeps 
To  bring  the  Lord  Christ  down; 

In  vain  we  search  the  lowest  deeps, 

For  Him  no  depths  can  drown. 

But  warm,  sweet,  tender,  even  yet 
A  present  help  is  He; 

And  faith  has  still  its  Olivet 
And  love  its  Galilee. 

The  healing  of  His  seamless  dress 
Is  by  our  beds  of  pain; 

We  touch  Him  in  life’s  throng  and  press, 
And  we  are  whole  again. 

Through  Him  the  first  fond  prayers  are  said 
Our  lips  of  childhood  frame ; 

The  last  low  whispers  of  our  dead 
Are  burdened  with  His  name. 

O  Lord  and  Master  of  us  all ! 

Whate’er  our  name  or  sign, 

We  own  Thy  sway,  we  hear  Thy  call, 

We  test  our  lives  by  thine. 


544 


THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


ONWARD,  CHRISTIAN  SOLDIERS 
Sabine  Baring-Gould,  1867 

Onward,  Christian  soldiers, 

Marching  as  to  war, 

With  the  cross  of  Jesus 
Going  on  before. 

Christ  the  royal  master, 

Leads  against  the  foe; 

Forward  into  battle, 

See  his  banners  go. 

At  the  sound  of  triumph 
Satan’s  host  doth  flee; 

On,  then,  Christian  soldiers, 

On  to  victory ! 

Hell’s  foundations  quiver 
At  the  shout  of  praise ; 

Brothers  lift  your  voices, 

Loud  your  anthems  raise. 

Like  a  mighty  army 

Moves  the  church  of  God; 

Brethren,  we  are  treading 
Where  the  saints  have  trod; 

We  are  not  divided, 

All  one  body,  we, 

One  in  hope  and  doctrine, 

One  in  charity. 

Crowns  and  thrones  may  perish, 
Kingdoms  rise  and  wane, 

But  the  church  of  Jesus 
Constant  will  remain; 

Gates  of  hell  can  never 

’Gainst  that  church  prevail ; 

We  have  Christ’s  own  promise, 

And  that  cannot  fail. 


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WORSHIP 

Onward,  then,  ye  people ! 

Join  our  happy  throng, 
Blend  with  ours  your  voices, 
In  the  triumph  song; 
Glory  laud  and  honor 
Unto  Christ  the  king; 
This  through  countless  ages 
Men  and  angels  sing. 


PILGRIM’S  SONG 
Bernard  S.  Ingemann,  1825 
Translated  by  Sabine  Baring-Gould,  1867 

Thro’  the  night  of  doubt  and  sorrow 
Onward  goes  the  pilgrim  band, 

Singing  songs  of  expectation, 

Marching  to  the  promised  land. 

Clear  before  us  through  the  darkness 
Gleams  and  burns  the  guiding  light ; 

Brother  clasps  the  hand  of  brother, 
Stepping  fearless  through  the  night. 

One  the  light  of  God’s  own  presence 
O’er  His  ransomed  people  shed, 

Chasing  far  the  gloom  and  terror, 
Brightening  all  the  path  we  tread; 

One  the  object  of  our  journey, 

One  the  faith  which  never  tires, 

One  the  earnest  looking  forward, 

One  the  hope  our  God  inspires; 

One  the  strain  that  lips  of  thousands 
Lift  as  from  the  heart  of  one; 

One  the  conflict,  one  the  peril, 

One  the  march  in  God  begun; 

One  the  gladness  of  rejoicing 
On  the  far  eternal  shore, 

Where  the  one  almighty  Father 
Reigns  in  love  for  evermore. 


545 


S46  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

Onward,  therefore,  pilgrim  brothers, 
Onward  with  the  cross  our  aid ! 

Bear  its  shame  and  fight  its  battle, 

Till  we  rest  beneath  its  shade ! 

Soon  shall  come  the  great  awaking, 

Soon  the  rending  of  the  tomb ; 

Then  the  scattering  of  the  shadows, 

And  the  end  of  toil  and  gloom. 


CHILD’S  EVENING  HYMN 
Sabine  Baring-Gould,  1868 

Now  the  day  is  over, 

Night  is  drawing  nigh, 

Shadows  of  the  evening 
Steal  across  the  sky. 

Now  the  darkness  gathers, 

Stars  begin  to  peep, 

Birds  and  beasts  and  flowers 
Soon  will  be  asleep. 

Jesus  give  the  weary 
Calm  and  sweet  repose, 

With  thy  tenderest  blessing 
May  our  eyelids  close. 

Grant  to  little  children 
Visions  bright  of  thee, 

Guard  the  sailors  tossing 
On  the  deep  blue  sea. 

Comfort  every  sufferer 
Watching  late  in  pain; 

Those  who  plan  some  evil 
From  their  sin  restrain. 


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Through  the  long  night-watches 
May  thy  angels  spread 
Their  white  wings  above  me. 
Watching  round  my  bed. 

When  the  morning  wakens, 
Then  may  I  arise 
Pure  and  fresh  and  sinless 
In  thy  holy  eyes. 


O  LITTLE  TOWN  OF  BETHLEHEM 
Phillips  Brooks,  1868 

O  little  town  of  Bethlehem, 

How  still  we  see  thee  lie ! 

Above  thy  deep  and  dreamless  sleep 
The  silent  stars  go  by ; 

Yet  in  thy  dark  streets  shineth 
The  Everlasting  Light; 

The  hopes  and  fears  of  all  the  years 
Are  met  in  thee  tonight. 

For  Christ  is  born  of  Mary; 

And,  gathered  all  above, 

While  mortals  sleep,  the  angels  keep 
Their  watch  of  wondering  love. 

O  morning  stars,  together 
Proclaim  the  holy  birth : 

And  praises  sing  to  God  the  King, 

And  peace  to  men  on  earth. 

How  silently,  how  silently, 

The  wondrous  gift  is  given ! 

So  God  imparts  to  human  hearts 
The  blessings  of  His  heaven. 

No  ear  may  hear  His  coming, 

But  in  this  world  of  sin, 

Where  meek  souls  will  receive  him  still, 
The  dear  Christ  enters  in. 


548  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

O  holy  Child  of  Bethlehem! 

Descend  to  us,  we  pray; 

Cast  out  our  sin,  and  enter  in, 

Be  born  in  us  today. 

We  hear  the  Christmas  angels 
The  great  glad  tidings  tell; 

O  come  to  us,  abide  with  us, 

Our  Lord,  Immanuel. 

THERE  WERE  NINETY  AND  NINE 

Elizabeth  C.  Clephane,  1868 

There  were  ninety  and  nine  that  safely  lay, 

In  the  shelter  of  the  fold; 

But  one  was  out  on  the  hills  away, 

Far  off  from  the  gates  of  gold. 

Away  on  the  mountains  wild  and  bare, 

Away  from  the  tender  shepherd’s  care. 

“Lord,  Thou  hast  here  Thy  ninety  and  nine, 

Are  they  not  enough  for  Thee  ?” 

But  the  shepherd  made  answer,  “This  of  Mine 
Has  wandered  away  from  Me; 

And  although  the  road  be  rough  and  steep, 

I  go  to  the  desert  to  find  my  sheep.” 

But  none  of  the  ransomed  ever  knew 
How  deep  were  the  waters  crossed; 

Nor  how  dark  was  the  night  that  the  Lord  passed 
through, 

Ere  he  found  His  sheep  that  was  lost. 

Out  in  the  desert  He  heard  its  cry, 

Sick  and  helpless,  and  ready  to  die. 

“Lord,  whence  are  those  blood-drops  all  the  way, 
That  mark  out  the  mountains’  track?” 

“They  were  shed  for  the  one  who  has  gone  astray 
Ere  the  shepherd  could  bring  him  back.” 


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“Lord,  whence  are  Thy  hands  so  rent  and  torn?” 
“They  are  pierced  tonight  by  many  a  thorn.” 

And  all  through  the  mountains,  thunder-riven, 

And  up  from  the  rocky  steep, 

There  arose  a  cry  to  the  gate  of  heaven, 

“Rejoice!  I  have  found  my  sheep.” 

And  the  angels  echoed  around  the  Throne 
Rejoice!  for  the  Lord  brings  back  His  own.” 

NOW  THE  LABOURER’S  TASK  IS  O’ER 
John  Ellerton,  1871 

« 

Now  the  labourer’s  task  is  o’er, 

Now  the  battle  day  is  past; 

Now  upon  the  farther  shore 
Lands  the  voyager  at  last. 

Father,  in  Thy  gracious  keeping 

Leave  we  now  Thy  servant  sleeping. 

There  the  tears  of  earth  are  dried; 

There  its  hidden  things  are  clear ; 

There  the  work  of  life  is  tried 
By  a  juster  Judge  than  here. 

Father,  in  Thy  gracious  keeping 

Leave  we  now  Thy  servant  sleeping. 

There  the  penitents,  that  turn 
To  the  Cross  their  dying  eyes, 

All  the  love  of  Christ  shall  learn 
At  His  Feet  in  Paradise. 

Father,  in  Thy  gracious  keeping 

Leave  we  now  Thy  servant  sleeping. 

There  no  more  the  powers  of  hell 
Can  prevail  to  mar  their  peace ; 

Christ  the  Lord  shall  guard  them  well, 

He  who  died  for  their  release. 


550  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

Father,  in  Thy  gracious  keeping 
Leave  we  now  Thy  servant  sleeping. 

“Earth  to  earth,  and  dust  to  dust,” 

Calmly  now  the  words  we  say, 

Left  behind  we  wait  in  trust 
For  the  Resurrection  Day 
Father,  in  Thy  gracious  keeping 
Leave  we  now  Thy  servant  sleeping. 


THOU  ART  COMING! 

Frances  Ridley  Havergal,  1873 

Thou  art  coming,  O  my  Savior; 

Thou  art  coming,  O  my  King ! 

In  Thy  beauty  all-resplendent, 

In  Thy  glory  all-transcendent; 

Well  may  we  rejoice  and  sing; 
Coming :  in  the  opening  east 

Herald  brightness  slowly  swells; 
Coming :  O  Thou  glorious  priest ! 

Hear  we  not  thy  golden  bells  ? 

Thou  art  coming,  Thou  art  coming; 

We  shall  meet  Thee  on  Thy  way; 

We  shall  bless  Thee,  we  shall  know  Thee, 
We  shall  bless  Thee,  we  shall  show  Thee 
All  our  hearts  could  never  say; 

What  an  anthem  that  will  be, 

Music  rapturously  sweet 
Pouring  out  our  love  to  Thee 
At  Thine  own  all-glorious  feet. 

Thou  art  coming;  we  are  waiting 
With  a  hope  that  cannot  fail; 

Asking  not  the  day  nor  hour, 

Resting  on  Thy  word  of  power, 
Anchored  safe  within  the  veil. 


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Time  appointed  may  be  long, 

But  the  vision  must  be  sure; 
Certainty  shall  make  us  strong 
Joyful  patience  can  endure. 

Oh,  the  joy  to  see  Thee  reigning, 
Thee,  our  own  beloved  Lord  ! 
Every  tongue  Thy  name  confessing, 
Worship,  honor,  glory,  blessing 
Brought  to  Thee  with  one  accord; 

Thee,  our  Master,  and  our  Friend, 
Vindicated  and  enthroned; 

Unto  earth’s  remotest  end 
Glorified,  adored  and  owned! 


PEACE,  PERFECT  PEACE 

Edward  Henry  Bickersteth,  1875 

Peace,  perfect  peace,  in  this  dark  world  of  sin? 
The  blood  of  Jesus  whispers  peace  within. 

Peace,  perfect  peace,  by  thronging  duties  pressed? 
To  do  the  will  of  Jesus,  this  is  rest. 

Peace,  perfect  peace,  with  sorrows  surging  round? 
On  Jesus’  bosom  naught  but  calm  is  found. 

Peace,  perfect  peace,  with  loved  ones  far  away? 

In  Jesus’  keeping  we  are  safe,  and  they. 

Peace,  perfect  peace,  the  future  all  unknown? 

Jesus  we  know,  and  He  is  on  the  throne. 

Peace,  perfect  peace,  death  shadowing  us  and  ours? 
Jesus  has  vanquished  death  and  all  its  powers. 

It  is  enough ;  earth’s  struggles  soon  shall  cease, 
And  Jesus  call  us  to  Heaven’s  perfect  peace. 


552  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


THE  DAY  IS  DYING  IN  THE  WEST 

Mary  A.  Lathbury,  1877 

Day  is  dying  in  the  west; 

Heaven  is  touching  earth  with  rest; 

Wait  and  worship  while  the  night 
Sets  the  evening  lamps  alight, 

Through  all  the  sky. 

Refrain 

Holy,  holy,  holy,  Lord  God  of  hosts ! 
Heaven  and  earth  are  full  of  Thee; 
Heaven  and  earth  are  praising  Thee, 
O  Lord  most  high ! 

Lord  of  life,  beneath  the  dome 
Of  the  universe,  Thy  home, 

Gather  us,  who  seek  Thy  face 
To  the  fold  of  Thy  embrace, 

For  Thou  art  nigh. 

While  the  deepening  shadows  fall, 

Heart  of  love,  enfolding  all, 

Through  the  glory  and  the  grace 
Of  the  stars  that  veil  Thy  face, 

Our  hearts  ascend. 

When  forever  from  our  sight 
Pass  the  stars,  the  day,  the  night, 

Lord  of  Angels,  on  our  eyes, 

Let  eternal  morning  rise, 

And  shadows  end. 


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O  MASTER,  LET  ME  WALK  WITH  THEE 

Washington  Gladden,  1879 

O  Master,  let  me  walk  with  Thee 
In  lowly  paths  of  service  free; 

Tell  me  Thy  secret;  help  me  bear 
The  strain  of  toil,  the  fret  of  care. 

Help  me  the  slow  of  heart  to  move 
By  some  clear  winning-  word  of  love, 

Teach  me  the  wayward  feet  to  stay, 

And  guide  them  in  the  homeward  way. 

Teach  me  Thy  patience;  still  with  Thee 
In  closer,  dearer  company, 

In  work  that  keeps  faith  sweet  and  strong, 
In  trust  that  triumphs  over  wrong. 

In  hope  that  sends  a  shining  ray 
Far  down  the  future’s  broadening  way; 

In  peace  that  only  Thou  canst  give, 

With  Thee,  O  Master,  let  me  live. 

O  LOVE,  THAT  WILT  NOT  LET  ME  GO 

George  Matheson,  1882 

O  Love,  that  wilt  not  let  me  go, 

I  rest  my  weary  soul  on  Thee; 

I  give  Thee  back  the  life  I  owe, 

That  in  Thine  ocean  depth  its  flow 
May  richer,  fuller  be. 

O  Light,  that  followest  all  my  way, 

I  yield  my  flickering  torch  to  Thee; 

My  heart  restores  its  borrowed  ray, 

That  in  Thy  sunshine’s  blaze  its  day 
May  brighter,  fairer  be. 


554  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


O  Joy,  that  seekest  me  through  pain, 

I  cannot  close  my  heart  to  Thee ; 

I  trace  the  rainbow  through  the  rain, 
And  feel  the  promise  is  not  vain, 

That  morn  shall  tearless  be. 

O  Cross,  that  liftest  up  my  head, 

I  dare  not  ask  to  fly  from  Thee; 

I  lay  in  dust  life’s  glory  dead, 

And  from  the  ground  there  blossoms  red 
Life  that  shall  endless  be. 


THE  NEW  HEART 

Modern  Chinese,  1890 

Alas,  my  heart  is  black, 

By  Satan  sore  deceived, 

Far  from  the  upward  track 
God’s  judgment  disbelieved, 

From  Heaven,  O  Holy  Spirit,  come ! 
With  Christ’s  Gospel  my  heart  illume ! 

Alas,  my  heart  of  woe 

With  sorrow  sick  to  death ! 

Fearing  Sin’s  doom  to  know 
I  sigh  with  wounded  breath, 

From  heaven,  O  spirit  blest,  descend! 
With  Jesus’  peace  my  grief  to  end. 

Alas,  my  strengthless  heart 
Is  slow  to  love  God’s  way, 

To  hate  the  wrong,  love  right, 

While  worldly  thought  bears  sway ! 
From  heaven,  O  spirit,  come!  complete 
My  heart,  with  Christ’s  perfection  sweet ! 


WORSHIP 


555 


A  DANCE  CHANT 
Iroquois  Indians 
Translated  by  E.  S.  Parker 
Hail !  Hail !  Hail ! 

Listen,  O  Creator,  with  an  open  ear  to  the  words  of  thy  people 
as  they  ascend  to  thy  dwelling ! 

Give  to  the  keepers  of  Thy  faith  wisdom  rightly  to  do  thy  com¬ 
mands. 

Give  to  our  warriors  and  to  our  mothers  strength  to  perform 
the  sacred  ceremonies  appointed. 

We  thank  Thee  that  thou  hast  kept  them  pure  unto  this  day. 
Listen  to  us  still ! 

We  thank  Thee  that  Thou  hast  spared  the  lives  of  so  many  of 
Thy  children  to  take  part  in  these  exercises. 

We  thank  Thee  for  the  increase  of  the  earth 
For  the  rivers  and  streams, 

For  the  sun  and  moon, 

For  the  winds  that  banish  disease, 

For  the  herbs  and  plants  that  cure  the  sick, 

For  all  things  that  minister  to  good  and  happiness. 

We. pray  for  a  prosperous  year  to  come. 

Lastly,  we  give  thee  thanks,  our  Creator  and  Ruler ! 

In  Thee  are  embodied  all  things ! 

We  believe  that  Thou  canst  do  no  evil; 

We  believe  that  Thou  dost  all  things  for  our  good  and  for  our 
happiness. 

Should  Thy  people  disobey  Thy  commands,  deal  not  harshly  with 
them ! 

Be  kind  to  us,  as  Thou  hast  been  to  our  fathers  in  times  long 
gone  by, 

Hearken  to  our  words  as  they  ascend — 

May  they  be  pleasing  to  Thee,  our  Creator ! 

Preserver  of  all  things  visible  and  invisible ! 


556  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


NOT  IN  DUMB  RESIGNATION 
John  Hay,  1891 

Not  in  dumb  resignation, 

We  lift  our  hands  on  high; 

Not  like  the  nerveless  fatalist, 

Content  to  trust  and  die. 

Our  faith  springs  like  the  eagle, 

Who  soars  to  meet  the  sun, 

And  cries  exulting  unto  Thee, 

“O  Lord,  thy  will  be  done !” 

When  tyrant  f^et  are  trampling 
Upon  the  common  weal, 

Thou  dost  not  bid  us  bend  and  writhe 
Beneath  the  iron  heel; 

In  Thy  name  we  assert  our  right 
By  sword  or  tongue  or  pen, 

And  even  the  headsman’s  axe  may  flash 
Thy  message  unto  men. 

Thy  will, — it  strengthens  weakness; 

It  bids  the  strong  be  just: 

No  lip  to  fawn,  no  hand  to  beg, 

No  brow  to  seek  the  dust. 

Wherever  man  oppresses  man 
Beneath  the  liberal  sun, 

O  Lord,  be  there,  Thine  arm  made  bare, 
Thy  righteous  will  be  done. 


THE  CHURCH  UNIVERSAL 

Samuel  Longfellow,  1891 

One  holy  church  of  God  appears 
Through  every  age  and  race, 
Unwasted  by  the  lapse  of  years, 
Unchanged  by  changing  place. 


WORSHIP 


557 


From  oldest  time,  on  farthest  shores, 
Beneath  the  pine  or  palm, 

One  unseen  presence  she  adores, 

With  silence  or  with  Psalm. 

Her  priests  are  all  God's  faithful  sons, 
To  serve  the  world  raised  up; 

The  pure  in  heart  her  baptized  ones, 
Love  her  communion  cup. 

The  truth  is  her  prophetic  gift, 

The  soul  her  sacred  page; 

And  feet  on  mercy's  errands  swift 
Do  make  her  pilgrimage. 

O  living  church !  Thine  errand  speed, 
Fulfil  Thy  task  sublime; 

With  bread  of  life  earth’s  hunger  feed, 
Redeem  the  evil  time  ! 


THY  KINGDOM  COME 
Frederick  L.  Hosmer,  1891 

Thy  kingdom  come — on  bended  knee 
The  passing  ages  pray; 

And  faithful  souls  have  yearned  to  see 
On  earth  that  kingdom’s  day. 

But  the  slow  watches  of  the  night 
Not  less  to  God  belong, 

And  for  the  everlasting  right 
The  silent  stars  are  strong. 

And  lo !  already  on  the  hills 
The  flags  of  dawn  appear ; 

Gird  up  your  loins,  ye  prophet  souls, 
Proclaim  the  day  is  near : 


558  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


The  day  in  whose  clear  shining  light 
All  wrong  shall  stand  revealed, 

When  justice  shall  be  clothed  with  might. 
And  every  hurt  be  healed : 

When  knowledge,  hand  in  hand  with  peace, 
Shall  walk  the  earth  abroad, — 

The  day  of  perfect  righteousness, 

The  promised  day  of  God. 


RECESSIONAL 
Rudyard  Kipling,  1897 

God  of  our  fathers,  known  of  old, 

Lord  of  our  far-flung  battle  line, 

Beneath  whose  awful  hand  we  hold 
Dominion  over  palm  and  pine : 

Lord  God  of  hosts,  be  with  us  yet, 

Lest  we  forget,  lest  we  forget. 

The  tumult  and  the  shouting  dies, 

The  captains  and  the  kings  depart; 

Still  stands  thine  ancient  sacrifice, 

An  humble  and  a  contrite  heart : 

Lord  God  of  hosts,  be  with  us  yet, 

Lest  we  forget,  lest  we  forget. 

Far-called  our  navies  melt  away, 

On  dune  and  headland  sinks  the  fire ; 

Lo,  all  our  pomp  of  yesterday 
Is  one  with  Nineveh  and  Tyre! 

Judge  of  the  Nations,  spare  us  yet, 

Lest  we  forget,  lest  we  forget ! 

If,  drunk  with  sight  of  power,  we  loose 
Wild  tongues  that  have  not  Thee  in  awe, 

Such  boastings  as  the  Gentiles  use, 

Or  lesser  breeds  without  the  law : 


WORSHIP 


559 


Lord  God  of  hosts,  be  with  us  yet, 

Lest  we  forget,  lest  we  forget. 

For  heathen  heart  that  puts  her  trust 
In  reeking  tube  and  iron  shard; 

All  valiant  dust  that  builds  on  dust, 

And  guarding,  calls  not  Thee  to  guard. 
For  frantic  boast  and  foolish  word, 

Thy  mercy  on  thy  people,  Lord! 


g.  TWENTIETH  CENTURY 


AMERICA  THE  BEAUTIFUL 
Katharine  Lee  Bates,  1905 

O  beautiful  for  spacious  skies, 

For  amber  waves  of  grain, 

For  purple  mountain  majesties 
Above  the  fruited  plain ! 

America !  America ! 

God  shed  his  grace  on  thee, 

And  crown  thy  good  with  brotherhood 
From  sea  to  shining  sea ! 

O  beautiful  for  pilgrim  feet, 

Whose  stern,  impassioned  stress 

A  thoroughfare  for  freedom  beat 
Across  the  wilderness ! 

America !  America ! 

God  mend  thine  every  flaw, 

Confirm  thy  soul  in  self-control, 

Thy  liberty  in  law ! 

O  beautiful  for  heroes  proved 
In  liberating  strife, 

Who  more  than  self  their  country  loved, 
And  mercy  more  than  life ! 


560  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


America !  America ! 

May  God  thy  gold  refine, 

Till  all  success  be  nobleness, 

And  every  gain  divine  ! 

O  beautiful  for  patriot  dream 
That  sees  beyond  the  years 
Thine  alabaster  cities  gleam 
Undimmed  by  human  tears ! 
America !  America ! 

God  shed  his  grace  on  thee, 

And  crown  thy  good  with  brotherhood 
From  sea  to  shining  sea! 


THY  KINGDOM  COME,  O  LORD 
Frederick  L.  Hosmer,  1905 

Thy  kingdom  come,  O  Lord, 
Wide-circling  as  the  sun; 

Fulfil  of  old  thy  word 

And  make  the  nations  one ; — 

One  in  the  bond  of  peace, 

The  service  glad  and  free 

Of  truth  and  righteousness 
Of  love  and  equity. 

Speed,  speed  the  longed-for  time 
Foretold  by  raptured  seers — 

The  prophecy  sublime, 

The  hope  of  all  the  years; — 

Till  rise  at  last,  to  span 
Its  firm  foundations  broad, 

The  commonwealth  of  man, 

The  city  of  our  God. 


WORSHIP 
THE  CITY 


561 


Frank  Mason  North,  1903 

Where  cross  the  crowded  ways  of  life, 
Where  sound  the  cries  of  race  and  clan 

Above  the  noise  of  selfish  strife, 

We  hear  Thy  voice,  O  Son  of  Man. 

In  haunts  of  wretchedness  and  need, 

On  shadowed  thresholds  dark  with  fears, 

From  paths  where  hide  the  lures  of  greed, 
We  catch  the  vision  of  Thy  tears. 

From  tender  childhood’s  helplessness, 

From  woman’s  grief,  man’s  burdened  toil, 

From  famished  souls,  from  sorrow’s  stress, 
Thy  heart  has  never  known  recoil. 

The  cup  of  water  given  for  Thee 

Still  holds  the  freshness  of  Thy  grace; 

Yet  long  the  multitudes  to  see 

The  sweet  compassion  of  Thy  face. 

O  Master,  from  the  mountain  side, 

Make  haste  to  heal  these  hearts  of  pain; 

Among  these  restless  throngs  abide, 

O  tread  the  city’s  streets  again; 

Till  sons  of  men  shall  learn  Thy  love, 

And  follow  where  Thy  feet  have  trod; 

Till  glorious  from  Thy  heaven  above, 

Shall  come  the  City  of  our  God. 

THY  KINGDOM,  LORD,  WE  LONG  FOR 

Vida  Scudder,  1905 

Thy  Kingdom,  Lord,  we  long  for, 

Where  love  shall  find  its  own; 

And  brotherhood  triumphant 
Our  years  of  pride  disown. 


562  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


Thy  captive  people  languish 
In  mill  and  mart  and  mine ; 

We  lift  to  Thee  their  anguish 
We  wait  thy  promised  sign. 

Thy  kingdom,  Lord,  Thy  Kingdom ! 
All  secretly  it  grows; 

In  faithful  hearts  forever 
His  seed  the  Sower  sows. 

Yet  ere  its  consummation 
Must  dawn  a  mighty  doom; 

For  judgment  and  salvation 
The  Son  of  Man  shall  come. 

If  now  perchance  in  tumult 
His  destined  sign  appear, — 

The  rising  of  the  people, — 

Dispel  our  coward  fear ! 

Let  comforts  that  we  cherish, 

Let  old  tradition  die ! 

Our  wealth,  our  wisdom  perish, 

So  that  He  draw  but  nigh. 

In  wrath  and  revolution 
The  Sign  may  be  displayed 
But  by  thy  grace  we’ll  greet  it 
With  spirits  unafraid. 

The  awe-struck  heart  presages 
An  advent  dread  and  sure ; 

Its  Master  in  the  poor. 

Beyond  our  fierce  confusion, 

Our  strife  of  speech  and  sword, 
Our  wars  of  class  and  nation, 

We  wait  Thy  certain  Word. 

The  meek  and  poor  of  spirit 
Who  in  Thy  promise  trust, 

Thy  Kingdom  shall  inherit, 

The  blessing  of  the  just. 


WORSHIP 


563 


THE  TROUBADOUR  OF  GOD 

Charles  Wharton  Stork 

I  walk  the  dusty  ways  of  life 
But  ever  my  heart  beats  high, 

And  my  song  ascends  to  the  crystal  tower 
That  pierces  up  through  the  sky. 

For  there  is  my  love  who  holds  my  heart 
Like  a  bird  on  silken  chain, 

Who  smote  my  side  with  a  gladsome  wound 
And  slays  me  with  sweetest  pain, 

Till  the  love  of  the  fairest  woman  on  earth 
Is  a  paltry  thing  and  vain. 

I  trudge  at  morn  right  merrily 
For  oh !  my  heart  is  young, 

I  give  good  words  and  a  hand  at  need 
To  those  I  walk  among, 

But  I  long  for  the  bliss  of  the  bridal  hour 
When  the  vesper  bell  is  rung. 

Till  then  I  sing  as  best  I  may 
My  love,  so  kind,  so  rare, 

I  mumble  not  in  a  monk’s  dark  cell; 

Nay,  song  is  braver  than  prayer. 

I  go  where  my  brothers  may  hear  my  voice 
In  the  glow  of  the  warm  bright  air. 

And  though  I  have  never  seen  my  Love 
Yet  the  pulse  of  my  faith  is  strong, 

It  fills  all  the  world  with  loveliness 
And  it  fills  my  heart  with  song. 


564  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


FESTAL  SONG 

William  Pierson  Merrill.  1911 

Rise  up,  O  men  of  God ! 

Have  done  with  lesser  things, 

Give  heart,  and  soul,  and  mind,  and  strength 
To  serve  the  King  of  Kings. 

Rise  up,  O  men  of  God ! 

His  kingdom  tarries  long, 

Bring  in  the  day  of  brotherhood 
And  end  the  night  of  wrong. 

Lift  high  the  cross  of  Christ ! 

Tread  where  His  feet  have  trod: 

As  brothers  of  the  Son  of  Man, 

Rise  up,  O  men  of  God ! 


IX.  Comfort  in  Sorrow 

a.  SUBMISSION  TO  THE  WILL  OF  GOD 

b.  THE  MINISTRY  OF  PAIN 

C.  BRAVERY  IS  ITS  OWN  CONSOLATION 

d.  VICTORY  ON  THE  SPIRITUAL  PLANE 

e.  IS  THERE  NO  IMMEDIATE  RELIEF? 

1.  Heaven  Only  Can  Heal 

2.  Love  Only  Can  Heal 

3.  Service  Only  Can  Heal 

4.  Time  Only  Can  Heal 


■ 


IX.  Comfort  in  Sorrow 


a.  SUBMISSION  TO  THE  WILL  OF  GOD 


THE  SUPREME  SACRIFICE 

John  S.  Arkwright 

O  valiant  Hearts,  who  to  your  glory  came 
Through  dust  of  conflict  and  through  battle-flame; 
Tranquil  you  lie,  your  knightly  virtue  proved, 

Your  memory  hallowed  in  the  Land  you  loved. 

Proudly  you  gathered,  rank  on  rank  to  war, 

As  who  had  heard  God’s  message  from  afar ; 

All  you  had  hoped  for,  all  you  had  you  gave 
To  save  Mankind — yourselves  you  scorned  to  save. 

Splendid  you  passed,  the  great  surrender  made, 
Into  the  light  that  nevermore  shall  fade ; 

Deep  your  contentment  in  that  blessed  abode, 

Who  wait  the  last  clear  trumpet-call  of  God. 

Long  years  ago,  as  earth  lay  dark  and  still, 

Rose  a  loud  cry  upon  a  lonely  hill, 

While  in  the  frailty  of  our  human  clay 
Christ,  our  redeemer,  passed  the  self-same  way. 

Still  stands  his  cross  from  that  dread  hour  to  this, 
Like  some  bright  star  above  the  dark  abyss; 

Still,  through  the  veil  the  Victor’s  pitying  eyes 
Look  down  to  bless  our  lesser  calvaries. 

567 


568  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


These  were  His  servants,  in  His  steps  they  trod 
Following  through  death  the  martyr’d  Son  of  God: 
Victor  He  rose;  victorious  too  shall  rise 
Those  who  have  drunk  His  Cup  of  Sacrifice. 

O  risen  Lord,  O  Shepherd  of  our  Dead, 

Whose  cross  has  bought  them  and  whose  staff  has  led — 
In  glorious  hope  their  proud  sorrowing  Land 
Commits  her  children  to  Thy  gracious  hand. 


THE  PLOUGHMAN 
Karle  Wilson  Baker 
God  will  not  let  my  field  lie  fallow. 

The  ploughshare  is  sharp,  the  feet  of  his  oxen  are  heavy. 
They  hurt. 

But  I  cannot  stay  God  from  his  ploughing, 

I,  the  lord  of  the  field 
While  I  stand  waiting 
His  shoulders  loom  upon  me  from  the  mist. 

He  has  gone  past  me,  down  the  furrow,  shouting  and  singing, 
(I  had  said,  it  shall  rest  for  a  season. 

The  larks  had  built  in  the  grass.  .  .  .) 

He  will  not  let  my  field  lie  fallow. 


SUBSTITUTION 

Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning 

When  some  beloved  voice  that  was  to  you 
Both  sound  and  sweetness,  faileth  suddenly, 

And  silence  against  which  you  dare  not  cry, 

Aches  round  you  like  a  strong  disease  and  new — 
What  hope  ?  What  help  ?  What  music  will  undo 


COMFORT  IN  SORROW 


569 


That  silence  to  your  sense?  Not  friendship’s  sigh, 
Not  reason’s  subtle  count;  not  melody 
Of  viols,  nor  of  pipes  that  Faunus  blew; 

Not  songs  of  poets,  nor  of  nightingales, 

Whose  hearts  leap  upward  through  the  cypress  trees 
To  the  clear  moon;  nor  yet  the  spheric  laws 
Self-chanted,  nor  the  angels’  sweet  ‘All-hails,’ 

Met  in  the  smile  of  God:  Nay,  none  of  these, 

Speak  Thou ,  availing  Christ! — and  fill  this  pause. 


THE  WAIL  OF  PROMETHEUS  BOUND 

yEsCHYLUS 

Translated  by  Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning 

O  Holy  iEther,  and  swift-winged  Winds, 

And  River-wells,  and  laughter  innumerous 
Of  yon  sea-waves !  Earth,  mother  of  us  all, 

And  all-viewing  cyclic  Sun,  I  cry  on  you, — 

Behold  me  a  god,  What  I  endure  from  gods ! 

Behold,  with  throe  on  throe, 

How,  wasted  by  this  woe, 

I  wrestle  down  the  myriad  years  of  time ! 

Behold  how  fast  around  me 
The  new  King  of  the  happy  ones  sublime 
Has  flung  the  chain  he  forged,  has  shamed  and  bound  me ! 
Woe,  woe !  today’s  woe  and  the  coming  morrow’s 
I  cover  with  one  groan,  and  where  is  found  me 
A  limit  to  these  sorrows  ? 

And  yet  what  word  do  I  say?  I  have  foreknown 
Clearly  all  things  that  should  be ;  nothing  done 
Comes  sudden  to  my  soul ;  and  I  must  bear 
What  is  ordained  with  patience,  being  aware 
Necessity  doth  front  the  universe 
With  an  invincible  gesture.  Yet  this  curse 
Which  strikes  me  now,  I  find  it  hard  to  brave 
In  silence  or  in  speech.  Because  I  gave 
Honor  to  mortals.  I  have  yoked  my  soul 


THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


To  this  compelling  fate.  Because  I  stole 
The  secret  fount  of  fire,  whose  bubbles  went 
Over  the  ferule’s  brim,  and  manward  sent 
Art’s  mighty  means  and  perfect  rudiment, 

That  sin  I  expiate  in  this  agony, 

LIung  here  in  fetters,  ’neath  the  blanching  sky. 

Ah,  ah  me !  what  a  sound, 

What  a  fragrance  sweeps  up,  from  a  pinion  unseen 
Of  a  god  or  a  mortal,  or  nature  between, 

Sweeping  up  to  this  rock  where  the  earth  has  her  bound. 
To  have  sight  of  my  pangs  or  some  guerdon  obtain. 

Lo,  a  god  in  the  anguish,  a  god  in  the  chain ! 

The  god  Zeus  hateth  sore, 

And  his  gods  hate  again, 

As  many  as  tread  on  his  glorified  floor, 

Because  I  loved  mortals  too  much  evermore. 

Alas,  me !  what  a  murmur  and  motion  I  hear, 

As  of  birds  flying  near ! 

And  the  air  undersings 

The  light  stroke  of  their  wings — 

And  all  life  that  approaches  I  wait  for  in  fear. 


NEARER  HOME 
Phoebe  Cary 

One  sweetly  solemn  thought 
Comes  to  me  o’er  and  o’er: 

I  am  nearer  home  today 

Than  I  ever  have  been  before; 

Nearer  my  Father’s  house 
Where  many  mansions  be ; 

Nearer  the  great  white  throne. 
Nearer  the  crystal  sea; 

Nearer  the  bound  of  life, 

Where  we  lay  our  burdens  down; 

Nearer  leaving  the  cross, 

Nearer  gaining  the  crown! 


COMFORT  IN  SORROW 


57i 


But  lying  darkly  between, 

Winding  down  through  the  night, 

Is  the  silent  unknown  stream, 

That  leads  at  last  to  the  light. 

Closer  and  closer  my  steps 
Come  to  the  dread  abysm ; 

Closer  Death  to  my  lips 
Presses  the  awful  chrism. 

Oh,  if  my  mortal  feet 

Have  almost  gained  the  brink; 

If  it  be  I  am  nearer  home 
Even  today  than  I  think ; 

Father,  perfect  my  trust; 

Let  my  spirit  feel  in  death. 

That  her  feet  are  firmly  set 
On  the  rock  of  a  living  Faith. 


HIS  BANNER  OVER  ME 
Gerald  Massey 

Surrounded  by  unnumbered  Foes, 

Against  my  soul  the  battle  goes ! 

Yet  though  I  weary,  sore  distressed, 

I  know  that  I  shall  reach  my  Rest : 

I  lift  my  tearful  eyes  above, — 

His  Banner  over  me  is  love. 

Its  Sword  my  spirit  will  not  yield, 
Though  flesh  may  faint  upon  the  field; 

He  waves  before  my  fading  sight 
The  branch  of  palm — the  crown  of  light; 
I  lift  my  brightening  eyes  above, — 

His  Banner  over  me  is  Love. 


572  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

My  cloud  of  battle-dust  may  dim; 

His  veil  of  splendor  curtain  Him! 

And  in  the  midnight  of  my  fear 
I  may  not  feel  Him  standing  near; 

But  as  I  lift  my  eyes  above, — 

His  Banner  over  me  is  Love. 


GRIEF  AND  GOD 
Stephen  Phillips 

Unshunnable  is  grief ;  we  should  not  fear 
The  dreadful  bath  whose  cleansing  is  so  clear; 

For  He  who  to  the  Spring  such  poison  gave, 

Who  rears  his  roses  from  the  hopeless  grave ; 

Who  caused  the  babe  to  wail  at  the  first  breath, 

But  with  a  rapture  seals  the  face  of  death; 

Who  circled  us  with  pale  aspiring  foam, 

With  exiled  Music  yearning  for  her  home, 

With  knockings  early  and  with  cryings  late, 

The  moving  of  deep  waters  against  Fate; 

Who  starred  the  skies  with  yearning  with  those  fires, 
That  dart  through  dew  their  infinite  desires; 

Or  largely  silent  and  so  wistful  bright 
Direct  a  single  look  of  love  all  night; 

Who  gave  unto  the  Moon  that  hopeless  quest, 
Condemned  the  wind  to  wander  without  rest; 

He,  as  I  think,  intends  that  we  shall  rise 
Only  through  pain  into  His  Paradise. 

Woe!  Woe!  to  those  who  placidly  suspire, 

Drowned  in  security,  remote  from  fire ; 

Who  under  the  dim  sky  and  whispering  trees 
By  peaceful  slopes  and  passing  streams  have  ease; 
Whose  merit  is  their  uncommitted  sins, 

Whose  thought  is  heinous,  but  they  shun  the  gins 
And  those  o’erflowering  pits  that  take  the  strong, 

The  baited  sweetness  and  the  honeyed  wrong; 

Who  watched  the  falling  yet  who  never  fell, 

Shadows  not  yet  ascended  into  Hell. 


COMFORT  IN  SORROW 


573 


No  sacred  pang  disturbs  their  secular  life, 

Eluding  splendor  and  escaping  strife; 

They  die  not,  for  they  lived  not;  under  earth 
Their  bodies  urge  the  meaner  flowers  to  birth: 
Unstrung,  unfired,  untempted  was  their  soul; 

Easy  extinction  is  their  utmost  goal. 

To  those  whom  He  doth  love  God  hath  not  sent 
Such  dread  security,  such  sad  content ; 

Young  are  they  carried  to  the  front  of  pain, 

In  coldest  anguish  dipped  again,  again; 

Or  else  into  His  burning  are  they  led, 

Desirous  of  His  glory  to  be  dead; 

When  He  descends,  like  Semele  they  die, 

Proud  to  be  shrivelled  in  His  ecstasy; 

Or  through  the  night  of  life  they  ebb  and  flow 
Under  the  cold  imperial  Moon  of  woe. 

Some  of  His  favourites  are  too  fiercely  wrought 
To  spend  upon  the  sunny  earth  a  thought, 

But  ever  by  an  inward  peril  driven, 

Neglect  the  gleaming  grass  and  glimmering  heaven. 
And  some  by  thorny  sweetness  are  betrayed, 

By  beauty  of  those  bodies  He  hath  made ; 

And  some  o’er  wearied,  have  so  tired  a  head, 

They  ask  like  children  to  be  laid  in  bed. 

But  He  hath  branded  on  such  souls  His  name, 

And  He  will  know  them  by  the  scars  of  flame. 

As  Christ  in  the  dark  garden  had  to  drink 

The  brimming  cup  from  which  His  soul  did  shrink; 

As  Dante  had  to  thread  the  world  of  fire, 

Ere  he  approached  the  Rose  of  his  desire ; 

So  fear  not  grief,  fear  not  the  anguish,  thou, 

The  paining  heart,  the  clasped  and  prostrate  brow; 
This  is  the  emblem,  and  this  is  the  sign 
By  which  God  singles  thee  for  fields  divine; 

From  such  a  height  He  stoops,  from  such  a  bliss. 
Small  wonder  thou  dost  shudder  at  His  kiss. 


574  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


THE  REFUGE 
Psalm  XLVI 

From  Moulton’s  Modern  Reader’s  Bible 

God  is  our  refuge  and  strength, 

A  very  present  help  in  trouble. 

Therefore  will  we  not  fear,  though  the  earth  do  change, 

And  though  the  mountains  be  moved  in  the  heart  of  the  seas ; 
Though  the  waters  thereof  roar  and  be  troubled, 

Though  the  mountains  shake  with  the  swelling  thereof. 

The  Lord  of  Hosts  is  with  us, 

The  God  of  Jacob  is  our  refuge. 

There  is  a  river,  the  streams  whereof  make  glad  the  city  of  God, 
The  holy  place  of  the  tabernacles  of  the  Most  High. 

God  is  in  the  midst  of  her ;  she  shall  not  be  moved : 

God  shall  help  her  at  the  dawn  of  morning. 

The  nations  raged,  the  kingdoms  were  moved; 

He  uttered  His  voice,  the  earth  melted. 

The  Lord  of  Hosts  is  with  us; 

The  God  of  Ja,cob  is  our  refuge. 

Come,  behold  the  works  of  the  Lord, 

What  desolations  he  hath  made  in  the  earth ; 

He  maketh  wars  to  cease  unto  the  end  of  the  earth; 

He  breaketh  the  bow  and  cutteth  the  spear  in  sunder ; 

He  burneth  the  chariots  in  the  fire. 

Be  still  and  know  that  I  am  God: 

I  will  be  exalted  among  the  nations, 

I  will  be  exalted  in  the  earth. 

The  Lord  of  Hosts  is  with  us; 

The  God  of  Jacob  is  our  refuge . 


COMFORT  IN  SORROW 


575 


THE  EVERLASTING  ARMS 
Psalm  XCI 

From  Moulton’s  Modern  Reader’s  Bible 

He  that  dwelleth  in  the  secret  place  of  the  Most  High 
Shall  abide  under  the  shadow  of  the  Almighty. 

I  will  say  of  the  Lord,  ‘He  is  my  refuge  and  my  fortress; 

My  God,  in  whom  I  trust.’ 

For  he  shall  deliver  thee  from  the  snare  of  the  fowler, 

And  from  the  noisome  pestilence. 

He  shall  cover  thee  with  his  pinions, 

And  under  his  wings  shalt  thou  take  refuge : 

His  truth  is  a  shield  and  a  buckler. 

Thou  shall  not  be  afraid  for  the  terror  by  night, 

Nor  for  the  arrow  that  flieth  by  day; 

Nor  for  the  pestilence  that  walketh  in  darkness, 

Nor  for  the  destruction  that  wasteth  at  noonday. 

A  thousand  shall  fall  at  thy  side, 

And  ten  thousand  at  thy  right  hand ; 

But  it  shall  not  come  nigh  thee. 

Only  with  thy  eyes  shalt  thou  behold, 

And  see  the  reward  of  the  wicked. 

For  thou,  O  Lord,  art  my  refuge ! 

Thou  hast  made  the  Most  High  thy  habitation: 

There  shall  no  evil  befall  thee, 

Neither  shall  any  plague  come  nigh  thy  tent. 

For  he  shall  give  his  angels  charge  over  thee, 

To  keep  thee  in  all  thy  ways. 

They  shall  bear  thee  up  in  their  hands, 

Lest  thou  dash  thy  foot  against  a  stone. 

Thou  shalt  tread  upon  the  lion  and  adder : 

The  young  lion  and  the  serpent  shalt  thou  trample  under  feet. 
Because  he  hath  set  his  love  upon  me,  therefore  will  I  deliver 
him. 

I  will  set  him  on  high  because  he  hath  known  my  name, 

He  shall  call  upon  me  and  I  will  answer  him; 


576  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

I  will  be  with  him  in  trouble : 

I  will  deliver  him  and  honour  him. 

With  long  life  will  I  satisfy  him, 

And  show  him  my  salvation. 


THE  PILGRIM’S  SONG 
Psalm  CXXI 

From  Moulton’s  Modern  Reader's  Bible 

I  will  lift  up  mine  eyes  unto  the  mountains: 

From  whence  shall  my  help  come? 

My  help  cometh  from  the  Lord, 

Which  made  heaven  and  earth. 

He  will  not  suffer  thy  foot  to  be  moved, 

He  that  keepeth  thee  will  not  slumber. 

Behold  he  that  keepeth  Israel 
Shall  neither  slumber  nor  sleep. 

The  Lord  is  thy  keeper: 

The  Lord  is  thy  shade  upon  thy  right  hand. 

The  sun  shall  not  smite  thee  by  day, 

Nor  the  moon  by  night. 

The  Lord  shall  keep  thee  from  all  evil; 

Lie  shall  keep  thy  soul. 

The  Lord  shall  keep  thy  going  out  and  thy  coming  in, 
From  this  time  forth  and  forever  more. 


THE  LOST  CHORD 

Adelaide  Anne  Proctor 

Seated  one  day  at  the  Organ, 

I  was  weary  and  ill  at  ease, 
And  my  fingers  wandered  idly 
Over  the  noisy  keys. 


COMFORT  IN  SORROW 


577 


I  know  not  what  I  was  playing, 

Or  what  I  was  dreaming  then ; 

But  I  struck  one  chord  of  music, 

Like  the  sound  of  a  great  Amen. 

It  flooded  the  crimson  twilight, 

Like  the  close  of  an  angel’s  Psalm, 

And  it  lay  on  my  fevered  spirit 
With  a  touch  of  infinite  calm. 

It  quieted  pain  and  sorrow, 

Like  love  overcoming  strife; 

It  seemed  the  harmonious  echo 
From  our  discordant  life. 

It  linked  all  perplexed  meanings 
Into  one  perfect  peace, 

And  trembled  away  into  silence 
As  if  it  were  loth  to  cease. 

I  have  sought  but  I  seek  it  vainly, 

That  one  lost  chord  divine, 

Which  came  from  the  soul  of  the  Organ 
And  entered  into  mine. 

It  may  be  that  Death’s  bright  angel 
Will  speak  in  that  chord  again — 

It  may  be  that  only  in  Heaven 
I  shall  hear  that  great  Amen. 


b.  THE  MINISTRY  OF  PAIN 

SORROW 

Sir  Aubrey  de  Vere 

Count  each  affliction,  whether  light  or  grave, 
God’s  messenger  sent  down  to  thee  ;  do  thou 
With  courtesy  receive  him;  rise  and  bow; 
And,  ere  his  shadow  pass  thy  threshold,  crave 


578  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


Permission  first  his  heavenly  feet  to  lave; 

Then  lay  before  him  all  thou  hast;  allow 
No  cloud  of  passion  to  usurp  thy  brow, 

Or  mar  thy  hospitality;  no  wave 
Of  mortal  tumult  to  obliterate 
Thy  soul’s  marmoreal  calmness.  Grief  should  be 
Like  joy,  majestic,  equable,  sedate, 

Confirming  cleansing,  raising,  making  free ; 

Strong  to  consume  small  troubles ;  to  commend 

Great  thoughts,  grave  thoughts,  thoughts  lasting  to  the  end. 


WHO  NEVER  ATE  WITH  TEARS  HIS  BREAD 

GOETHE 

Translated  by  Farnsworth  Wright 

Who  never  ate  with  tears  his  bread, 

Who  never  through  the  troubled  hours 
Weeping  sat  upon  his  bed, 

He  knows  ye  not,  ye  heavenly  powers. 

Ye  lead  us  into  life  amain, 

Ye  let  the  poor  with  guilt  be  weighted, 

And  then  ye  give  him  o’er  to  pain, 

For  guilt  must  all  be  compensated. 


SORROWS  HUMANIZE  OUR  RACE 

Jean  Ingelow 

Sorrows  humanize  our  race; 

Tears  are  the  showers  that  fertilize  this  world: 
And  memory  of  things  precious  keepeth  warm 
The  heart  that  once  did  hold  them. 

They  are  poor 

That  have  lost  nothing:  they  are  poorer  far 
Who.  losing,  have  forgotten :  they  most  poor 


COMFORT  IN  SORROW 


579 


Of  all,  who  lose  and  wish  they  might  forget. 
For  life  is  one,  and  in  its  warp  and  woof 
There  runs  a  thread  of  gold  that  glitters  fair, 
And  sometimes  in  the  pattern  shows  more  sweet 
Where  there  are  sombre  colors.  It  is  true 
That  we  have  wept.  But  O,  this  thread  of  gold, 
We  would  not  have  it  tarnish:  let  us  turn 
Oft  and  look  back  upon  the  wondrous  web, 

And  when  it  shineth  sometimes  we  shall  know 
That  memory  is  possession. 


TIS  SORROW  BUILDS  THE  SHINING  LADDER  UP 

James  Russell  Lowell 

’Tis  sorrow  builds  the  shining  ladder  up, 

Whose  golden  rounds  are  our  calamities, 

Whereon  our  feet  planting,  nearer  God 
The  spirit  climbs  and  hath  its  eyes  unsealed. 

True  it  is  that  Death’s  face  seems  stern  and  cold, 
When  he  is  sent  to  summon  those  we  love, 

But  all  God’s  angels  come  to  us  disguised. 

Sorrow  and  sickness,  poverty  and  death, 

One  after  other  lift  their  frowning  masks 
And  we  behold  the  seraph’s  face  beneath, 

All  radiant  with  the  glory  and  the  calm 
Of  having  looked  upon  the  front  of  God. 

With  every  anguish  of  our  earthly  part 
The  spirit’s  path  grows  clearer;  this  was  meant 
When  Jesus  touched  the  blind  man’s  lids  with  clay. 
Life  is  the  jailer;  Death  the  angel  sent 
To  draw  the  unwilling  bolts  and  set  us  free. 


580  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


CLEANSING  FIRES 
Adelaide  Anne  Proctor 

Let  thy  gold  be  cast  in  the  furnace, 

Thy  red  gold,  precious  and  bright; 

Do  not  fear  the  hungry  fire, 

With  its  caverns  of  burning  light; 

And  thy  gold  shall  return  more  precious, 
Free  from  every  spot  and  stain; 

For  gold  must  be  tried  by  fire, 

As  a  heart  must  be  tried  by  pain ! 

In  the  cruel  fire  of  Sorrow 

Cast  thy  heart,  do  not  faint  or  wail ; 

Let  thy  hand  be  firm  and  steady 
Do  not  let  thy  spirit  quail : 

But  wait  till  the  trial  is  over 
And  take  thy  heart  again ; 

For  as  gold  is  tried  by  fire, 

So  a  heart  must  be  tried  by  pain ! 

I  shall  know  by  the  gleam  and  the  glitter 
Of  the  golden  chain  you  wear, 

By  your  heart’s  calm  strength  in  loving, 
Of  the  fire  they  have  had  to  bear. 

Beat  on,  true  heart,  forever ! 

Shine  bright,  strong  golden  chain! 

And  bless  the  cleansing  fire, 

And  the  furnace  of  living  pain ! 


MY  UNINVITED  GUEST 
May  Riley  Smith 

One  day  there  entered  at  my  chamber  door 
A  presence  whose  light  footfall  on  the  floor 
No  token  gave;  and,  ere  I  could  withstand, 
Within  her  clasp  she  drew  my  trembling  hand. 


COMFORT  IN  SORROW 


58i 


“Intrusive  guest,”  I  cried,  “my  palm  I  lend 
But  to  the  gracious  pressure  of  a  friend ! 

Why  comest  thou,  unbidden  and  in  gloom, 
Trailing  thy  cold  gray  garments  in  my  room? 

“I  know  thee,  Pain !  Thou  art  the  sullen  foe 
Of  every  sweet  enjoyment  here  below; 

Thou  art  the  comrade  and  ally  of  Death, 

And  timid  mortals  shrink  from  thy  cold  breath. 

“No  fragrant  balms  grow  in  thy  garden  beds, 

Nor  slumbrous  poppies  droop  their  crimson  heads; 
And  well  I  know  thou  comest  to  me  now 
To  bind  thy  burning  chains  upon  my  brow !” 

And  though  my  puny  will  stood  straightly  up, 
From  that  day  forth  I  drank  her  pungent  cup, 
And  ate  her  bitter  bread, — with  leaves  of  rue, 
Which  in  her  sunless  gardens  rankly  grew. 

And  now,  so  long  it  is,  I  scarce  can  tell 
When  Pain  within  my  chamber  came  to  dwell; 
And  though  she  is  not  fair  of  mien  or  face, 

She  hath  attracted  to  my  humble  place 

A  company  most  gracious  and  refined, 

Whose  touches  are  like  balm,  whose  voices  kind: 
Sweet  Sympathy,  with  box  of  ointment  rare ; 
Courage,  who  sings  while  she  sits  weaving  there ; 

Brave  Patience,  whom  my  heart  esteemeth  much, 
And  who  hath  wondrous  virtue  in  her  touch. 

Such  is  the  chaste  and  sweet  society 

Which  Pain,  my  faithful  foe,  hath  brought  to  me. 

And  now,  upon  my  threshold  there  she  stands, 
Reaching  to  me  her  rough  yet  kindly  hands 
In  silent  truce.  Thus  for  a  time  we  part, 

And  a  great  gladness  overflows  my  heart; 


582  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


For  she  is  so  ungentle  in  her  way 

That  no  host  welcomes  her  or  bids  her  stay; 

Yet,  though  men  bolt  and  bar  their  house  from  thee, 
To  every  door,  O  Pain,  thou  hast  a  key ! 


From  THE  ORDEAL  BY  FIRE 

Edmund  Clarence  Stedman 

Thou,  who  dost  feel  Life’s  vessel  strand 
Full  length  upon  the  shining  sand, 

And  hearest  breakers  close  at  hand, 

Be  strong  and  wait !  nor  let  the  strife, 

With  which  the  winds  and  waves  are  rife, 
Disturb  that  sacred  inner  life : 

Anon  thou  shalt  regain  the  shore. 

And  walk — though  naked,  maimed,  and  sore — 
A  nobler  being  than  before ! 

No  lesser  griefs  shall  work  thee  ill; 

No  malice  shall  have  power  to  kill: 

Of  woes  thy  soul  hath  drunk  its  fill. 

Tempests  that  beat  us  to  the  clay, 

Drive  many  a  lowering  cloud  away, 

And  bring  a  clearer,  holier  day. 

The  fire,  that  every  hope  consumes, 

Either  the  inmost  soul  entombs, 

Or  evermore  the  face  illumes ! 

Roses  of  asbestos  do  we  wear; 

Before  the  memories  we  bear, 

The  flames  leap  backward  everywhere. 


COMFORT  IN  SORROW 


583 


THE  CELESTIAL  SURGEON 

Robert  Louis  Stevenson 

If  I  have  faltered  more  or  less 

In  my  great  task  of  happiness; 

If  I  have  moved  among  my  race 

And  shown  no  glorious  morning  face; 

If  beams  from  happy  human  eyes 

Have  moved  me  not ;  if  morning  skies, 

Books  and  my  food,  and  summer  rain 

Knocked  on  mv  sullen  heart  in  vain: — 

* 

Lord,  Thy  most  pointed  pleasure  take 
And  stab  my  spirit  broad  awake ! 

Or,  Lord,  if  too  obdurate  I, 

Choose  Thou,  before  that  spirit  die, 

A  piercing  pain,  a  killing  sin 
And  to  my  dead  heart  run  them  in ! 

A  WANDERER’S  LITANY 
Arthur  Stringer 

When  my  life  has  enough  of  love,  and  my  spirit  enough  of 
mirth, 

When  the  ocean  no  longer  beckons  me,  when  the  roadway  calls 
no  more, 

Oh,  on  the  anvil  of  Thy  wrath,  remake  me,  God,  that  day ! 

When  the  lash  of  the  wave  bewilders,  and  I  shrink  from  the 
sting  of  the  rain, 

When  I  hate  the  gloom  of  Thy  steel-gray  wastes,  and  slink  to 
the  lamp-lit  shore. 

Oh,  purge  me  in  Thy  primal  fires,  and  fling  me  on  my  way ! 

When  I  house  me  close  in  a  twilit  inn,  when  I  brood  by  a  dying 
fire, 

When  I  kennel  and  cringe  with  fat  content,  where  a  pillow  and 
loaf  are  sure, 

Oh,  on  the  anvil  of  Thy  wrath,  remake  me,  God,  that  day ! 


584  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

When  I  quail  at  the  snow  on  the  uplands,  when  I  crawl  from 
the  glare  of  the  sun, 

When  the  trails  that  are  lone  invite  me  not,  and  the  half-way- 
lamps  allure, 

Oh',  purge  me  in  Thy  primal  fires,  and  fling  me  on  my  way ! 

When  the  wine  has  all  ebbed  from  an  April,  when  the  Autumn 
of  life  forgets, 

The  call  and  the  lure  of  the  widening  West,  the  wind  in  the 
straining  rope, 

Oh,  on  the  anvil  of  Thy  wrath,  remake  me,  God,  that  day ! 


When  I  awaken  to  hear  adventures  strange  throng  valiantly 
forth  by  night, 

To  the  sting  of  the  salt-spume  dust  of  the  plain,  and  width  of 
the  western  slope, 

Oh,  purge  me  in  Thy  primal  fires  and  fling  me  on  my  way ! 


When  swarthy  and  careless  and  grim  they  throng  out  under  my 
rose-grown  sash, 

And  I — I  bide  me  there  by  the  coals,  and  I  know  not  heat  nor 
hope, 

Then,  on  the  anvil  of  Thy  wrath,  remake  me,  God,  that  day ! 


IF  ALL  THE  SKIES 

Henry  van  Dyke 

If  all  the  skies  were  sunshine, 
Our  faces  would  be  fain 
To  feel  once  more  upon  them 
The  cooling  plash  of  rain. 

If  all  the  world  were  music. 
Our  hearts  would  often  long 
For  one  sweet  strain  of  silence, 
To  break  the  endless  song. 


COMFORT  IN  SORROW 


585 


If  life  were  always  merry, 

Our  souls  would  seek  relief, 
And  rest  from  weary  laughter 
In  the  quiet  arms  of  grief. 


PISGAH 

Willard  Wattles 

By  every  ebb  of  the  river-side 
My  heart  to  God  hath  daily  cried; 

By  every  shining  shingle-bar 
I  found  the  pathway  of  a  star ; 

By  every  dizzy  mountain  height 
He  touches  me  for  cleaner  sight. 

As  Moses’  face  hath  shined  to  see 
His  intimate  divinity; 

Through  desert  sand  I  stumbling  pass 
To  death’s  cool  plot  of  friendly  grass, 
Knowing  each  painful  step  I  trod 
Hath  brought  me  daily  home  to  God. 


THE  ANGEL  OF  PATIENCE 

John  Greenleaf  Whittier 

To  weary  hearts,  to  mourning  homes 
God’s  meekest  angel  gently  comes: 

No  power  has  he  to  banish  pain, 

Or  give  us  back  our  lost  again; 

And  yet  in  tenderest  love,  our  dear 
And  Heavenly  Father  sends  him  here. 

There’s  quiet  in  the  angel’s  glance, 

There’s  rest  in  his  still  countenance ! 

He  mocks  no  grief  with  idle  cheer, 

Nor  wounds  with  words  the  mourner’s  ear; 
But  ills  and  woes  he  may  not  cure 
He  kindly  trains  us  to  endure. 


586  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


C,  BRAVERY  IS  ITS  OWN  CONSOLATION 

THE  INEVITABLE 
Sarah  K.  Bolton 

I  like  the  man  who  faces  what  he  must 
With  step  triumphant  and  a  heart  of  cheer; 

Who  fights  the  daily  battle  without  fear; 

Sees  his  hopes  fail,  yet  keeps  unfaltering  trust 
That  God  is  God, — that  somehow,  true  and  just 
His  plans  work  out  for  mortals;  not  a  tear 
Is  shed  when  fortune,  which  the  world  holds  dear, 
Falls  from  his  grasp — better,  with  love,  a  crust 
Than  loving  in  dishonor;  envies  not, 

Nor  loses  faith  in  man;  but  does  his  best, 

Nor  ever  murmurs  at  his  humbler  lot; 

But,  with  a  smile  and  words  of  hope,  gives  zest 
To  every  toiler.  He  alone  is  great 
Who  by  a  life  heroic  conquers  fate. 

COURAGE 

Stopford  Brooke 

Oft,  as  we  run  the  weary  way 
That  leads  thro’  shadows  unto  day, 

With  trial  sore  amazed, 

We  deem  our  sorrows  are  unknown, 

Our  battle  joined  and  fought  alone, 

Our  victory  unpraised. 

Faithless  and  blind!  We  cannot  trace 
The  witnesses  above  our  race, 

Beyond  our  senses’  ken; 

The  mighty  cloud  of  all  who  died 
With  faithful  rapture,  humble  pride, 

For  love  of  God  and  man. 


COMFORT  IN  SORROW 


587 


And  One,  the  Conqueror  of  death, 
Beginner,  finisher  of  faith. 

Who,  for  the  joy  of  love, 

Endured  the  cross,  despised  the  shame, 
Awakes  in  us  the  battle  flame, 

And  waits  for  us  above. 

With  patience  then  we  run  the  race, 
With  joy  and  confidence  and  grace, 
With  quiet  hope  and  power; 

Cast  off  the  sins  that  check  our  speed, 
The  weights  that  faith  and  love  impede ; 
Withstand  the  evil  hour. 

For  heaven  is  round  us  as  we  move, 

Our  days  are  compassed  with  its  ‘love, 
Its  light  is  on  our  road : 

And  when  the  knell  of  death  is  rung, 
Sweet  hallelujahs  shall  be  sung 
To  welcome  us  to  God. 


CUI  BONO? 

Thomas  Carlyle 

What  is  hope  ?  A  smiling  rainbow 
Children  follow  through  the  wet; 
’Tis  not  here,  still  yonder,  yonder, 
Never  urchin  found  it  yet. 

What  is  life?  A  thawing  iceboard 
On  a  sea  with  sunny  shore ; 

Gay  we  sail ;  it  melts  beneath  us ; 
We  are  sunk  and  seen  no  more. 

What  is  man?  A  foolish  baby, 
Vainly  strives  and  fights  and  frets; 
Demanding  all,  deserving  nothing; 
One  small  grave  is  all  he  gets. 


588  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


GOD’S  PITY 

Louise  Driscoll 

God  pity  all  the  brave  who  go 
The  common  way,  and  wear 
No  ribboned  medals  on  their  breasts. 
No  laurels  in  their  hair. 

God  pity  all  the  lonely  Folk 
With  Griefs  they  do  not  tell 
Women  waking  in  the  night 
And  men  dissembling  well. 

In  common  courage  of  the  street 
The  crushed  grape  is  the  wine, 
Wheat  in  the  mill  is  daily  bread 
And  given  for  a  sign. 

And  who  but  God  shall  pity  those 
Who  go  so  quietly 
And  smile  upon  us  when  we  meet 
And  greet  so  pleasantly. 


INVICTUS 

William  Ernest  Henley 

Out  of  the  night  that  covers  me, 

Black  as  the  pit  from  pole  to  pole, 
I  thank  whatever  gods  may  be, 

For  my  unconquerable  soul. 

In  the  fell  clutch  of  circumstance 
I  have  not  winced  nor  cried  aloud. 
Under  the  bludgeonings  of  chance 
My  head  is  bloody  but  unbowed. 


COMFORT  IN  SORROW 


589 


Beyond  this  place  of  wrath  and  tears 
Looms  but  the  horror  of  the  shade, 

And  yet  the  menace  of  the  years 
Finds  and  shall  find  me  unafraid. 

It  matters  not  how  straight  the  gate 

How  charged  with  punishments  the  scroll, 
I  am  the  master  of  my  fate, 

I  am  the  captain  of  my  soul. 


TO  THE  BRAVE  SOUL 

Wilbur  Underwood 

Strong  in  a  dream  of  perfect  bloom 
The  flower  strikes  its  roots  in  mould, 
Not  else  would  pure  narcissus  cups 
The  April  days  behold. 

And  all  the  scented  white  of  May 

And  bird  delight  that  soars  and  sings, 
Transmuted  is  of  strange  decay 
Dead  leaves  and  moulderings 

O  soul  elect,  lips  keen  with  song, 

O  eager  heart  the  gods  love  well, 
Plunge,  vision  in  thine  eyes,  and  let 
Thy  feet  take  hold  on  hell. 


d.  VICTORY  ON  THE  SPIRITUAL  PLANE 

“THEY  WENT  FORTH  TO  BATTLE  BUT  THEY 

ALWAYS  FELL” 

Shaemas  O  Sheel 

They  went  forth  to  battle  but  they  always  fell; 

Their  eyes  were  fixed  above  the  sullen  shields; 

Nobly  they  fought  and  bravely  but  not  well. 


590  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

And  sank,  heart-wounded  by  a  subtle  spell. 

They  knew  not  fear  that  to  the  foeman  yields, 

They  were  not  weak,  as  one  who  vainly  wields 
A  futile  weapon ;  yet  the  sad  scrolls  tell 
How  on  the  hard-fought  field  they  always  fell. 

It  was  a  secret  music  that  they  heard, 

A  sad  sweet  plea  for  pity  and  for  peace; 

And  that  which  pierced  the  heart  was  but  a  word, 

Though  the  white  breast  was  red-lipped  where  the  sword 
Pierced  a  fierce  cruel  kiss,  to  put  surcease 
On  its  hot  thirst,  but  drank  a  hot  increase. 

Ah,  they  by  some  strange  troubling  doubt  were  stirred, 
And  died  for  hearing  what  no  foeman  heard. 

They  went  forth  to  battle  but  they  always  fell : 

Their  might  was  not  the  might  of  lifted  spears; 

Over  the  battle  clamor  came  a  spell 
Of  troubling  music,  and  they  fought  not  well. 

Their  wreaths  are  willows  and  their  tribute,  tears; 
Their  names  are  old  sad  stories  in  men’s  ears; 

Yet  they  will  scatter  the  red  hordes  of  Hell, 

Who  went  forth  to  battle  and  always  fell. 


TEARS 

Lizette  Woodworth  Reese 

When  I  consider  life  and  its  few  years — 

A  wisp  of  fog  betwixt  us  and  the  sun; 

A  call  to  battle  and  the  battle  done 
Ere  the  last  echo  dies  within  our  ears ; 

A  rose  choked  in  the  grass ;  an  hour  of  fears ; 
The  gusts  that  past  a  darkening  shore  do  beat ; 
A  burst  of  music  down  an  unlistening  street — 

I  wonder  at  the  idleness  of  tears. 

Ye,  old,  old  dead,  and  ye  of  yesternight, 
Chieftains  and  bards  and  keepers  of  the  sheep; 
By  every  cup  of  sorrow  that  you  had, 


COMFORT  IN  SORROW 


59i 


Loose  me  from  tears,  and  make  me  see  aright 
How  each  hath  back  what  once  he  stayed  to  weep ; 
Homer  his  sight,  David  his  little  lad ! 


IO  VICTIS 

William  Wetmore  Story 

I  sing  the  hymn  of  the  conquered,  who  fall  in  the  Battle  of 
Life  — 

The  hymn  of  the  wounded,  the  beaten,  who  died  overwhelmed 
in  the  strife; 

Not  the  jubilant  song  of  the  victors,  for  whom  the  resounding 
acclaim 

Of  nations  was  lifted  in  chorus,  whose  brows  wear  the  chaplet 
of  fame, 

But  the  hymn  of  the  low  and  the  humble,  the  weary,  the  broken 
in  heart, 

Who  strove  and  who  failed,  acting  bravely  a  silent  and  desper¬ 
ate  part; 

Whose  youth  bore  no  flower  in  its  branches,  whose  hopes  burned 
in  ashes  away, 

From  whose  hands  slipped  the  prize  they  had  grasped  at,  who 
stood  at  the  dying  of  day 

With  the  wreck  of  their  life  all  around  them,  unpitied,  unheeded, 
alone, 

With  Death  swooping  down  o’er  their  failure,  and  all  but  their 
faith  overthrown, 

While  the  voice  of  the  world  shouts  its  chorus, — its  paean  for 
those  who  have  won; 

While  the  trumpet  is  sounding  triumphant,  and  high  to  the 
breeze  and  the  sun 

Glad  banners  are  waving,  hands  clapping,  and  hurrying  feet 

Thronging  after  the  laurel  crowned  victors,  I  stand  on  the  field 
of  defeat, 

In  the  shadow,  with  those  who  are  fallen,  and  wounded,  and 
dying,  and  there 

Chant  a  requiem  low,  place  my  hand  on  their  pain-knotted 
brows,  breathe  a  prayer, 


592  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

Hold  the  hand  that  is  helpless,  and  whisper,  “They  only  the 
victory  win, 

Who  have  fought  the  good  fight,  and  have  vanquished  the 
demon  that  tempts  us  within; 

Who  have  held  to  their  faith  unseduced  by  the  prize  that  the 
world  holds  on  high; 

Who  have  dared  for  a  high  cause  to  suffer,  resist,  fight, — if 
need  be,  to  die.” 

Speak,  History!  Who  are  Life’s  victors?  Unroll  thy  long 
annals  and  say, 

Are  they  those  whom  the  world  called  the  victors,  who  won  the 
success  of  a  day? 

The  martyrs,  or  Nero?  The  Spartans,  who  fell  at  Thermopy¬ 
lae’s  tryst, 

Or  the  Persians  and  Xerxes?  His  judges  or  Socrates? 
Pilate  or  Christ? 


FAILURES 
Arthur  W.  Upson 

They  bear  no  laurels  on  their  sunless  brows, 

Nor  aught  within  their  pale  hands  as  they  go; 

They  look  as  men  accustomed  to  the  slow 
And  level  onward  course  ’neath  drooping  boughs. 
Who  may  these  be  no  trumpet  doth  arouse, 

These  of  the  dark  processionals  of  woe, 

Unpraised,  unblamed,  but  whom  sad  Acheron’s  flow 
Monotonously  lulls  to  leaden  drowse? 

These  are  the  Failures.  Clutched  by  Circumstance, 
They  were — say  not,  too  weak  ! — too  ready  prey 
To  their  own  fear  whose  fixed  Gorgon  glance 
Made  them  as  stone  for  aught  of  great  essay ; — 

Or  else  they  nodded  when  their  Master-Chance 
Wound  his  one  signal,  and  went  on  his  way. 


COMFORT  IN  SORROW 


593 


e,  IS  THERE  NO  IMMEDIATE  RELIEF? 

I.  Heaven  Only  Can  Heal 


COURAGE 
Paul  Gerhardt 
Translated  by  John  Wesley 

Give  to  the  winds  thy  fears; 

Hope  and  be  undismayed; 

God  hears  thy  sighs  and  counts  thy  tears, 
God  shall  lift  up  thy  head. 

Through  waves  and  clouds  and  storms 
He  gently  clears  thy  way; 

Wait  thou  His  time;  so  shall  this  night 
Soon  end  in  joyous  day. 

Leave  to  His  sovereign  sway 
To  choose  and  to  command; 

So  shalt  thou  wondering  own,  His  way 
How  wise,  how  strong  His  hand! 

Far,  far  above  thy  thought 
His  counsel  shall  appear, 

When  fully  He  the  work  hath  wrought 
That  caused  thy  needless  fear. 

Let  us  in  life,  in  death, 

Thy  steadfast  truth  declare, 

And  publish  with  our  latest  breath, 

The  love  and  guardian  care. 


THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


THE  CHRISTIAN  LIFE 

Samuel  Longfellow 

I  look  to  Thee  in  ev’ry  need, 

And  never  look  in  vain; 

I  feel  Thy  strong  and  tender  love, 

And  all  is  well  again; 

The  thought  of  Thee  is  mightier  far 
Than  sin  and  pain  and  sorrow  are. 

Discouraged  in  the  work  of  life, 
Disheartened  by  its  load, 

Shamed  by  its  failures  or  its  fears, 

I  sink  beside  the  road; 

But  let  me  only  think  of  Thee, 

And  then  new  heart  springs  up  in  me. 

Thy  calmness  bends  serene  above, 

My  restlessness  to  still, 

Around  me  flows  Thy  quickening  life 
To  nerve  my  faltering  will ; 

Thy  presence  fills  my  solitude, 

Thy  providence  turns  all  to  good. 

Embosomed  deep  in  Thy  great  love, 
Held  in  Thy  law,  I  stand; 

Thy  hand  in  all  things  I  behold, 

And  all  things  in  Thy  hand; 

Thou  leadest  me  by  unsought  ways. 
And  turn’st  my  mourning  into  praise. 


COMFORT  IN  SORROW 


595 


IN  DARK  HOUR 
Seumas  MacManus 

I  turn  my  steps  where  the  Lonely  Road 
Winds  as  far  as  the  eye  can  see, 

And  I  bend  my  back  for  the  burden  sore 
That  God  has  reached  down  to  me. 

I  have  said  farewell  to  the  sun-kissed  plains. 

To  joy  I  gave  good-bye; 

Now  the  bleak  wide  wastes  of  the  world  are  mine, 
And  the  winds  that  wail  in  the  sky. 

No  bright  flower  blooms,  no  sweet  bird  calls, 

Nor  hermit  ever  abode, 

Not  a  green  thing  lifts  one  lonely  leaf, 

O  God,  on  the  Lonely  Road ! 

The  thick  dank  mists  come  stealing  down, 

And  press  me  on  every  side, 

With  never  a  voice  to  cheer  me  on 
And  never  a  hand  to  guide. 

I  shall  cry  in  my  need  for  a  Voice  and  a  Hand, 
And  the  solace  of  love-wet  eyes — 

And  an  icy  clutch  will  close  on  my  heart, 

When  Echo,  the  mocker,  replies. 

I  know  my  good  soul  will  fail  me  not, 

When  forms  from  the  dark  round  me  creep, 

And  whisper  ’twere  sweet  to  journey  no  more, 
But  lay  down  the  burden  and  sleep. 

(Look  onward  and  up,  O  Heart  of  my  Heart, 
Where  the  road  strikes  the  skies  afar ! 

To  cheer  you  and  guide,  thro’  your  darkest  hour, 
Behold  yon  beckoning  star!) 


596  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

I  set  my  face  to  the  gray  wild  wastes, 

I  bend  my  back  to  the  load — 

Dear  God,  be  kind  with  the  heart-sick  child 
Who  steps  on  the  Lonely  Road. 


COME,  YE  DISCONSOLATE 
Thomas  Moore 

Come,  ye  disconsolate,  where’er  you  languish, 

Come,  at  God’s  altar  fervently  kneel; 

Here  bring  your  wounded  hearts,  here  tell  your  anguish,— 
Earth  has  no  sorrow  that  heaven  cannot  heal. 

Joy  of  the  desolate,  light  of  the  straying, 

Hope  when  all  others  die,  fadeless  and  pure, 

Here  speaks  the  comforter,  in  God’s  name  saying, 

“Earth  has  no  sorrow  that  heaven  cannot  cure.” 

Go,  ask  the  infidel  what  boon  he  brings  us, 

What  charm  for  aching  hearts  he  can  reveal, 

Sweet  as  that  heavenly  promise  hope  sings  us, — 

“Earth  has  no  sorrow  that  God  cannot  heal.” 


SORROW 

George  Santayana 

Have  patience ;  it  is  fit  that  in  this  wise 
The  spirit  purge  away  its  proper  dross. 

No  endless  fever  doth  thy  watches  toss, 

For  by  excess  of  evil,  evil  dies. 

Soon  shall  the  faint  world  melt  before  thine  eyes, 
And,  all  life’s  losses  cancelled  by  life’s  loss, 

Thou  shalt  lay  down  all  burdens  on  thy  cross, 

And  be  that  day  with  God  in  Paradise. 

Have  patience ;  for  a  long  eternity 
No  summons  woke  thee  from  thy  happy  sleep; 


COMFORT  IN  SORROW 


597 


For  love  of  God  one  vigil  thou  canst  keep 
And  add  thy  drop  of  sorrow  to  the  sea. 

Having  known  grief,  all  will  be  well  with  thee, 
Ay,  and  thy  second  slumber  will  be  deep. 


2.  Love  Only  Can  Heal 


THE  HARP  OF  SORROW 
Ethel  Clifford 

Sorrow  has  a  harp  of  seven  strings 
And  plays  on  it  unceasing  all  the  day; 

The  first  string  sings  of  love  that  is  long  dead, 
The  second  sings  of  lost  hopes  buried; 

The  third  of  happiness  forgot  and  fled. 

Of  vigil  kept  in  vain  the  fourth  cord  sings, 
And  the  fifth  string  of  roses  dropt  away. 

The  sixth  string  calls  and  is  unanswered, 

The  seventh  with  your  name  forever  rings — 

I  listen  for  its  singing  all  the  day ! 


3.  Service  Only  Can  Heal 

SONNET  ON  HIS  BLINDNESS 
John  Milton 

When  I  consider  how  my  light  is  spent 
Ere  half  my  days  in  this  dark  world  and  wide, 

And  that  one  talent  which  is  death  to  hide, 
Lodged  with  me  useless,  though  my  soul  more  bent 
To  serve  therewith  my  Maker,  and  present 
My  true  account,  lest  he  returning  chide ; 

“Doth  God  exact  day-labor,  light  denied?’' 


598  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


I  fondly  ask.  But  Patience,  to  prevent 
That  murmur,  soon  replies,  “God  doth  not  need 
Either  man’s  work  or  his  own  gifts;  who  best 
Bear  his  mild  yoke,  they  serve  him  best;  his  state 
Is  kingly :  thousands  at  his  bidding  speed, 

And  post  o’er  land  and  ocean  without  rest; 

They  also  serve  who  only  stand  and  wait.” 


4.  Time  Only  Can  Heal 


SORROW 

Emily  Dickinson 

They  say  that  “Time  assuages,” — 
Time  never  did  assuage; 

An  actual  suffering  strengthens, 
As  sinews  do,  with  age. 

Time  is  test  of  trouble 
But  not  a  remedy. 

If  such  it  prove,  it  proves,  too, 
There  was  no  malady. 


EVEN  THIS  SHALL  PASS  AWAY 

Theodore  Tilton 

Once  in  Persia  reigned  a  King 
Who  upon  his  signet  ring 
Graved  a  maxim  true  and  wise, 

Which,  if  held  before  the  eyes, 

Gave  him  counsel  at  a  glance, 

Fit  for  every  change  and  chance. 

Solemn  words,  and  these  are  they: 

“Even  this  shall  pass  away.” 


COMFORT  IN  SORROW 


599 


Trains  of  camels  through  the  sand 
Brought  him  gems  from  Samarcand; 
Fleets  of  galleys  through  the  seas 
Brought  him  pearls  to  match  with  these. 
But  he  counted  not  his  gain 
Treasures  of  the  mine  or  main; 

“What  is  wealth ?”  the  king  would  say; 
“Even  this  shall  pass  away/’ 

In  the  revels  of  his  court 
At  the  zenith  of  the  sport, 

When  the  palms  of  all  his  guests 
Burned  with  clapping  at  his  jests; 

He  amid  his  figs  and  wine, 

Cried:  “Oh  loving  friends  of  mine! 
Pleasure  comes  but  not  to  stay ; 

Even  this  shall  pass  away/’ 

Fighting  on  a  furious  field, 

Once  a  javelin  pierced  his  shield; 
Soldiers  with  a  loud  lament 
Bore  him  bleeding  to  his  tent; 

Groaning  from  his  tortured  side, 

“Pain  is  hard  to  bear,”  he  cried, 

“But  with  patience,  day  by  day, — * 

Even  this  shall  pass  away.” 

Towering  in  the  public  square, 

Twenty  cubits  in  the  air, 

Rose  his  statue,  carved  in  stone, 

Then  the  king,  disguised,  unknown. 

Stood  before  his  sculptured  name 
Musing  meekly,  “What  is  fame? 

Fame  is  but  a  slow  decay — 

Even  this  shall  pass  away.” 

Struck  with  palsy,  sere  and  old, 

Waiting  at  the  gates  of  gold, 

Said  he  with  his  dying  breath: 

“Life  is  done,  but  what  is  death?'* 


6oo  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


Then,  in  answer  to  the  King, 
Fell  a  sunbeam  on  his  ring, 
Showing  by  a  heavenly  ray, 
“Even  this  shall  pass  away.” 


X.  Conduct  of  Life 


a.  PERSONAL 

1.  High  Aims 

2.  Self-control 

3.  Work 

4.  Humility 

5.  Opportunity 

6.  Loyalty  to  Your  Best  Self 

7.  Loyalty  to  Duty 

8.  Creeds 

b.  social  (god  in  all  great  movements 

1.  Social  Struggle 

2.  National  Affairs 

3.  International  Affairs 


' 


1 


X.  Conduct  of  Life 


a.  PERSONAL 

i.  High  Aims 


ATTAINMENT 
Madison  Cawein 

On  the  heights  of  Great  Endeavor,— 
Where  Attainment  looms  forever, — 
Toiling  upward,  ceasing  never, 

Climb  the  fateful  Centuries: 

Up  the  difficult  dark  places, 

Joy  and  anguish  in  their  faces, 

On  they  strive,  the  living  races, 

And  the  dead  that  no  one  sees. 

Shape  by  shape  with  brow  uplifted, 
One  by  one  where  night  is  rifted, 
Pass  the  victors,  many  gifted, 

Where  the  heaven  opens  wide; 

While  below  them,  fallen  or  seated, 
Mummy-like,  or  shadow-sheeted, 
Stretch  the  lines  of  the  defeated, — 
Scattered  on  the  mountain  side. 

And  each  victor,  passing  wanly, 

Gazes  on  that  Presence  lonely, 

With  moving  eyes  where  only 
Grow  the  dreams  for  which  men  die: 
Grow  the  dreams,  the  far,  ethereal, 
That  on  earth  assume  material 
Attributes,  and,  vast,  imperial, 

Rear  their  battlements  on  high. 

603 


604  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


Kingdoms,  marble-templed,  towered, 
Where  the  arts,  the  many-dowered, — 
That  for  centuries  have  flowered, 
Trampled  under  War’s  wild  heel, — 

Lift  immortal  heads  and  golden, 
Blossoms  of  the  times  called  olden, 
Soul-alluring,  earth-withholden, 
Universal  in  appeal. 

As  they  enter — high  and  lowly, — 

On  the  hush  these  words  fall  slowly 
Ye  who  kept  your  purpose  holy, 

Never  dreamed  your  cause  was  vain, 
Look  ! — Behold,  through  time  abating, 
How  the  long,  sad  days  of  waiting, 
Striving,  starving,  hoping,  hating, 
Helped  your  spirit  to  attain. 

“For  to  all  who  dream,  aspire, 

Marry  effort  to  desire, 

On  the  cosmic  heights,  in  fire 
Beaconing,  my  form  appears : — 

I  am  marvel,  I  am  morning ! 

Beauty  in  man’s  heart  and  warning ! — 
On  my  face  none  looks  with  scorning, 
And  no  soul  attains  who  fears.” 


THE  CHAMBERED  NAUTILUS 

Oliver  Wendell  Holmes 

This  is  the  ship  of  pearl,  which,  poets  feign, 

Sails  the  unshadowed  main, — 

The  venturous  bark  that  flings 
On  the  sweet  summer  wind  its  purpled  wings 
In  gulfs  enchanted,  where  the  Siren  sings, 

And  coral  reefs  lie  bare, 

Where  the  cold  sea-maids  rise  to  sun  their  streaming  hair. 


CONDUCT  OF  LIFE 


605 


Its  webs  of  living  gauze  no  more  unfurl ; 

Wrecked  is  the  ship  of  pearl! 

And  every  chambered  cell, 

Where  its  dim  dreaming  life  was  wont  to  dwell, 

As  the  frail  tenant  shaped  his  growing  shell, 

Before  thee  lies  revealed, — 

Its  irised  ceiling  rent,  its  sunless  crypt  unsealed ! 

Year  after  year  beheld  the  silent  toil 
That  spread  his  lustrous  coil; 

Still,  as  the  spiral  grew, 

He  left  the  past  year’s  dwelling  for  the  new, 

Stole  with  soft  step  its  shining  archway  through, 

Built  up  its  idle  door, 

Stretched  in  his  last-found  home,  and  knew  the  old  no  more. 

Thanks  for  the  heavenly  message  brought  by  thee, 

Child  of  the  wandering  sea, 

Cast  from  her  lap,  forlorn ! 

From  thy  dead  lips  a  clearer  note  is  born 
Than  ever  Triton  blew’  from  wreathed  horn! 

While  on  mine  ear  it  rings, 

Through  the  deep  caves  of  thought  I  hear  a  voice  that  sings, — 

Build  thee  more  stately  mansions,  O  my  soul, 

As  the  swift  seasons  roll ! 

Leave  thy  low-vaulted  past ! 

Let  each  new  temple,  nobler  than  the  last, 

Shut  thee  from  heaven  with  a  dome  more  vast, 

Till  thou  at  length  art  free, 

Leaving  thine  outgrown  shell  by  life’s  unresting  sea! 


EXPECTANS  EXPECTAVI 

Charles  Hamilton  Sorley 

From  morn  till  midnight,  all  day  through, 
I  laugh  and  play  as  the  others  do, 

I  sing  and  chatter,  just  the  same 
As  others  with  a  different  name. 


6o6  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


And  all  year  long  upon  the  stage, 

I  dance  and  tumble  and  do  rage 
So  vehemently,  I  scarcely  see 
The  inner  and  eternal  me. 

I  have  a  temple  I  do  not 
Visit,  a  heart  I  have  forgot, 

A  self  I  have  never  met, 

A  secret  shrine,  and  yet,  and  yet 

This  sanctuary  of  my  soul 
Unwitting  I  keep  white  and  whole, 
Unlatched  and  lit,  if  Thou  shouldst  care 
To  enter  or  to  tarry  there. 

With  parted  lips  and  outstretched  hands 
And  listening  ears  Thy  servant  stands, 
Call  Thou  early,  call  Thou  late, 

To  Thy  great  service  dedicate. 


ATTAINMENT 

Ella  Wheeler  Wilcox 

Use  all  your  hidden  forces.  Do  not  miss 
The  purpose  of  this  life,  and  do  not  wait 
For  circumstance  to  mold  or  change  your  fate. 
In  your  own  self  lies  destiny.  Let  this 
Vast  truth  cast  out  all  fear,  all  prejudice, 

All  hesitation.  Know  that  you  are  great, 
Great  with  divinity.  So  dominate 
Environment,  and  enter  into  bliss. — 

Love  largely  and  hate  nothing.  Hold  no  aim 
That  does  not  chord  with  universal  good. 

Hear  what  the  voices  of  the  silence  say, 

All  joys  are  yours  if  you  put  forth  your  claim, 
Once  let  the  spiritual  laws  be  understood, 
Material  things  must  answer  and  obey. 


CONDUCT  OF  LIFE 


607 


2.  Self-Control 


SELF-DEPENDENCE 

Matthew  Arnold 

Weary  of  myself  and  sick  of  asking 
What  I  am  and  what  I  ought  to  be, 

At  this  vessel’s  prow  I  stand,  which  bears  me 
Forwards,  forwards,  o’er  the  starlit  sea. 

And  a  look  of  passionate  desire 
O’er  the  sea  and  to  the  stars  I  send : 

“Ye  who  from  my  childhood  up  have  calmed  me, 
Calm  me,  Ah,  compose  me  to  the  end ! 

“Ah,  once  more,”  I  cried,  “ye  stars,  ye  waters, 

On  my  heart  your  mighty  charm  renew ; 

Still,  still  let  me,  as  I  gaze  upon  you, 

Feel  my  soul  becoming  vast,  like  you!” 

From  the  intense,  clear,  star-sown  vault  of  heaven, 
Over  the  lit  sea’s  unquiet  way, 

In  the  rustling  night  air  came  the  answer : 
“Wouldst  thou  be  as  these  are:  LIVE  as  they. 

“Unaffrighted  by  the  silence  round  them, 
Undistracted  by  the  sights  they  see, 

These  demand  not  that  the  things  without  them 
Yield  them  love,  amusement,  sympathy. 

“And  with  joy  the  stars  perform  their  shining, 
And  the  sea  its  long  moon-silvered  roll ; 

For  self-poised  they  live,  nor  pine  with  noting 
All  the  fever  of  some  differing  soul. 

“Bounded  by  themselves,  and  unregardful 
In  what  state  God’s  other  works  may  be, 

In  their  own  tasks  all  their  powers  pouring, 

These  attain  the  mighty  life  you  see.” 


608  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


Oh,  air-born  voice !  long  since,  severely  clear, 
A  cry  like  thine  in  my  own  heart  I  hear : 
“Resolve  to  be  thyself ;  and  know  that  lie. 
Who  finds  himself,  loses  his  misery!” 


THE  STUPID  OLD  BODY 
Edward  Carpenter 

Do  not  pay  too  much  attention  to  the  stupid  old  Body. 

When  you  have  trained  it,  made  it  healthy,  beautiful,  and  your 
willing  servant, 

Why,  then  do  not  reverse  the  order  and  become  its  slave  and 
attendant. 

(The  dog  must  follow  the  master,  not  the  master  the  dog.) 

Remember  that  if  you  walk  away  from  it  and  leave  it  behind,  it 
will  have  to  follow  you — it  will  grow  by  following,  by 
continually  reaching  up  to  you. 

Incredibly  beautiful  it  will  become,  and  suffused  by  a  kind  of 
intelligence. 

But  if  you  turn  and  wait  upon  it — and  its  mouth  and  its  belly 
and  its  sex-wants  and  all  its  little  ape-tricks — preparing  and 
dishing  up  pleasures  and  satisfactions  for  these, 

Why,  then,  instead  of  the  body  becoming  like  you,  you  will 
become  like  the  body, 

Incredibly  stupid  and  unformed — going  back  in  the  path  of 
evolution — you  too  with  fish-mouth  and  toad-belly,  and  im¬ 
prisoned  in  your  own  members,  as  it  were  an  Ariel  in  a 
blundering  Caliban. 

Therefore  quite  lightly  and  decisively  at  each  turning-point  in 
the  path  leave  your  body  a  little  behind — 

With  its  hungers  and  sleeps,  and  funny ’little  needs  and  vanities 
— Pay  no  attention  to  them; 

Slipping  out  at  least  a  few  steps  in  advance,  till  it  catch  you  up 
again, 

Absolutely  determined  not  to  be  finally  bound  and  weighted 
down  by  it, 


CONDUCT  OF  LIFE 


609 


Or  fossilized  into  one  set  form — 
Which  alone  after  all  is  death. 


THE  WANDERING  LUNATIC  MIND 
Edward  Carpenter 

Do  not  pay  too  much  attention  to  the  wandering  lunatic  Mind. 

When  you  have  trained  it,  informed  it,  made  it  clear,  decisive, 
and  your  flexible  instrument  and  tool, 

Why,  then,  do  not  reverse  the  order  and  become  the  mere  fatu¬ 
ous  attendant  and  exhibitor  of  its  acrobatic  feats  (like  a 
keeper  who  shows  off  a  monkey). 

Remember  that  if  you  walk  away  from  it,  leaving  it  as  dead, 
paying  it  no  attention  whatever — it  will  have  to  follow  you 
— it  will  grow  by  following,  by  reaching  up  to  you,  from  the 
known  to  the  unknown,  continually ; 

It  will  become  at  last  the  rainbow-tinted  garment  and  shining 
interpreter  of  Yourself,  and  incredibly  beautiful. 

But  if  you  turn  and  wait  always  upon  it,  and  its  idiotic  cares 
and  anxieties,  and  endless  dream-chains  of  argument  and 
imagination — 

Feeding  them  and  the  microbe-swarms  of  thoughts  continually, 
wasting  upon  them  your  life-force ; 

Why,  then,  instead  of  your  Mind  becoming  your  true  companion 
and  interpreter,  it  will  develop  antics  and  a  St.  Vitus’s 
dance  of  its  own,  and  the  form  of  a  wandering  lunatic, 

Incredibly  tangle-haired  and  diseased  and  unclean, 

In  -whose  features  you,  in  sadness  and  in  vain,  will  search  for 
your  own  image — terrified  lest  you  find  it  not,  and  terrified 
too  lest  you  find  it. 

Therefore  quite  decisively,  day  by  day  and  at  every  juncture, 
leave  your  Mind  for  a  time  in  silence  and  abeyance ; 

With  its  tyrannous  thoughts  and  demands,  and  funny  little  fears 
and  fancies — the  long  legacy  of  ages  of  animal  evolution ; 

Slipping  out  and  going  your  own  way  into  the  Unseen — feeling 
with  your  feet  if  necessary  through  the  darkness — till  some 
dav  it  may  follow  you ; 


6io  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


Absolutely  determined  not  to  be  bound  by  any  of  its  conclusions ; 

or  fossilized  in  any  pattern  it  may  invent; 

For  this  were  to  give  up  your  kingdom,  and  bow  down  your 
neck  to  death. 


MY  MINDE  TO  ME  A  KINGDOM  IS 

Sir  Edward  Dyer 

Altered  by  William  Byrd,  1588 

My  minde  to  me  a  kingdom  is, 

Such  perfect  joy  therein  I  finde 
As  farre  exceeds  all  earthly  blisse 
That  God  or  nature  hath  assignde; 

Though  much  I  want  that  most  would  have, 
Yet  still  my  minde  forbids  to  crave. 

Content  I  live;  this  is  my  stay, — 

I  seek  no  more  than  may  suffice, 

I  presse  to  beare  no  haughtie  sway ; 

Look,  what  I  lack  my  minde  supplies. 

Loe,  thus  I  triumph  like  a  king, 

Content  with  that  my  minde  doth  bring. 

I  see  how  plentie  surfeits  oft, 

And  hastie  clymbers  soonest  fall ; 

I  see  that  such  as  sit  aloft 

Mishap  doth  threaten  most  of  all. 

These  get  with  toile,  and  keepe  with  feare; 
Such  cares  my  minde  could  never  beare. 

No  princely  pompe  nor  welthie  store, 

No  force  to  win  the  victorie, 

No  wylie  wit  to  salve  a  sore, 

No  shape  to  winne  a  lover’s  eye, — 

To  none  of  these  I  yield  as  thrall; 

For  why,  my  minde  despiseth  all. 


CONDUCT  OF  LIFE 


6n 


Some  have  too  much,  yet  still  they  crave; 

I  little  have,  yet  seek  no  more. 

They  are  but  poore,  though  much  they  have, 
And  I  am  rich  with  little  store. 

They  poor,  I  rich ;  they  beg,  I  give ; 

They  lacke,  I  leave;  they  pine,  I  live. 

I  laugh  not  at  another’s  losse, 

I  grudge  not  at  another’s  gaine ; 

No  worldly  wave  my  minde  can  tosse; 

I  brooke  that  is  another’s  bane. 

I  feare  no  foe,  nor  fawne  on  friend; 

I  lothe  not  life,  nor  dread  mine  end. 

I  joy  not  in  no  earthly  blisse; 

I  weigh  not  Cresus’  wealth  a  straw; 

For  care,  1  care  not  what  it  is; 

I  feare  not  fortune’s  fatal  law ; 

My  minde  is  such  as  may  not  move 
For  beautie  bright,  or  force  of  love. 

I  wish  but  what  I  have  at  will ; 

I  wander  not  to  seeke  for  more ; 

I  like  the  plaine,  I  clime  no  hill ; 

In  greatest  stormes  I  sitte  on  shore, 

And  laugh  at  them  that  toile  in  vaine 
To  get  what  must  be  lost  againe. 

I  kisse  not  where  I  wish  to  kill ; 

I  feigne  not  love  where  most  I* hate; 

I  breake  no  sleepe  to  winne  my  will ; 

I  wayte  not  at  the  mightie’s  gate. 

I  scorne  no  poore,  I  feare  no  rich; 

I  feele  no  want,  nor  have  too  much. 

The  court  ne  cart  I  like  ne  loath, — 
Extreames  are  counted  worst  of  all ; 

The  golden  meane  betwixt  them  both 
Doth  surest  sit,  and  feares  no  fall ; 

This  is  my  choyce ;  for  why,  I  finde 
No  wealth  is  like  a  quiet  minde. 


612  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


My  wealth  is  health  and  perfect  ease ; 

My  conscience  clere  my  chiefe  defence; 
I  never  seeke  by  bribes  to  please, 

Nor  by  desert  to  give  offence. 

Thus  do  I  live,  thus  will  I  die; 

Would  all  did  so  as  well  as  I ! 


THE  HAPPY  LIFE 

Sir  Henry  Wotton 

How  happy  is  he  born  and  taught 
That  serveth  not  another’s  will ; 

Whose  armor  is  his  honest  thought, 

And  simple  truth  his  utmost  skill ! 

Whose  passions  not  his  masters  are. 
Whose  soul  is  still  prepared  for  death, 
Untied  unto  the  world  by  care 

Of  public  fame,  or  private  breath; 

Who  envies  none  that  chance  doth  raise, 
Nor  vice,  who  never  understood 
How  deepest  wounds  are  given  by  praise ; 
Nor  rules  of  State,  but  rules  of  good; 

Who  hath  his  life  from  rumors  freed; 

Whose  conscience  is  his  strong  retreat; 
Whose  state*  can  neither  flatterers  feed, 
Nor  ruin  make  oppressors  great; 

Who  God  doth  late  and  early  pray, 

More  of  his  grace  than  gifts  to  lend; 
And  entertains  the  harmless  day 
With  a  well-chosen  book  or  friend ! 

— This  man  is  freed  from  servile  bands 
Of  hope  to  rise  or  fear  to  fall ! 

Lord  of  himself,  though  not  of  lands; 

And  having  nothing,  yet  hath  all ! 


CONDUCT  OF  LIFE 


613 


3.  Work 


REALIZATION 
Sri  Ananda  Acharya 

I  will  keep  the  fire  of  hope  ever  burning  on  the  altar  of  my  soul, 

I  will  feed  it  by  day  and  by  night  with  the  fuel  of  industry  and 
the  oblation  of  thought, 

Like  a  spring  plant  the  great  purpose  is  growing  in  the  garden 
of  my  heart; 

I  will  moisten  its  roots  each  morn  with  the  water  of  new  re¬ 
solve,  and  with  vows  of  renunciation  will  I  hedge  it  round; 

I  will  forego  all  comforts,  all  pastures,  till  this  plant  of  my 
purpose  bear  fruit, 

And  I  will  not  lose  patience  if  the  fruit  come  not  in  season, 

The  Future  enters  into  the  Present  to  weave  life’s  texture  after 
the  heaven-willed  pattern 

And  the  Past  is  overshadowed  and  the  face  of  the  Present  made 
pale. 

The  map  of  life  is  many-coloured,  showing  many  kings’  do¬ 
minions,  whose  boundaries  are  the  theatres  of  unremitting 
wars ; 

I  will  make  this  map  of  one  sole  colour  and  Truth  shall  reign 
the  one  sole  King  for  all  eternity. 

All  will  I  sacrifice — Life,  Time, — Happiness,  nay,  the  whole 
universe  of  the  gods — 

To  realize  the  purpose  which  Truth  proclaims  to  be  the  all- 
supreme. 


TO  THE  CHRISTIANS 
William  Blake 

I  give  you  the  end  of  a  golden  string; 

Only  wind  it  into  a  ball, — 

It  will  lead  you  in  at  Heaven’s  gate 
Built  in  Jerusalem’s  wall. 


614  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

England !  Awake  !  Awake  !  Awake  ! 

Jerusalem  thy  sister  calls ! 

Why  wilt  thou  sleep  the  sleep  of  death, 

And  close  her  from  thy  ancient  walls? 

Thy  hills  and  valleys  felt  her  feet 
Gently  upon  their  bosoms  move : 

Thy  gates  beheld  sweet  Zion’s  ways ; 

Then  was  a  time  of  joy  and  love. 

And  now  the  time  returns  again : 

Our  souls  exult,  and  London’s  towers 
Receive  the  Lamb  of  God  to  dwell 

In  England’s  green  and  pleasant  bowers. 


From  MILTON 

William  Blake 

And  did  those  feet  in  ancient  time 

Walk  upon  England’s  mountains  green? 
And  was  the  holy  Lamb  of  God 

On  England’s  pleasant  pastures  seen? 

And  did  the  Countenance  Divine 
Shine  forth  upon  our  clouded  hills? 

And  was  Jerusalem  budded  here 
Among  these  dark  Satanic  mills? 

Bring  me  my  bow  of  burning  gold! 

Bring  me  my  arrows  of  desire  ! 

Bring  me  my  spear  !  O  clouds  unfold ! 
Bring  me  my  chariot  of  fire ! 

I  will  not  cease  from  Mental  fight, 

Nor  shall  my  sword  sleep  in  my  hand. 
Till  we  have  built  Jerusalem 

In  England’s  green  and  pleasant  land. 


CONDUCT  OF  LIFE 


615 


THE  SONG  OF  THE  UNSUCCESSFUL 
Richard  Burton 

We  are  the  toilers  whom  God  hath  barred 
The  gifts  that  are  good  to  hold, 

We  meant  full  well  and  we  tried  full  hard, 
And  our  failures  were  manifold. 

And  we  are  the  clan  of  those  whose  kin 
Were  a  millstone  dragging  them  down, 

Yea,  we  had  to  sweat  for  our  brother’s  sin, 
And  lose  the  victor’s  crown. 

The  seeming-able,  who  all  but  scored, 

From  their  teeming  tribe  we  come: 

What  was  there  wrong  with  us,  O,  Lord, 
That  our  lives  were  dark  and  dumb? 

The  men,  ten-talented,  who  still 
Strangely,  missed  the  goal, 

Of  them  we  are :  it  seems  Thy  will 
To  harrow  some  in  soul. 

We  are  the  sinners,  too,  whose  lust 
Conquered  the  higher  claims, 

We  sat  us  prone  in  the  common  dust, 

And  played  at  the  devil’s  games. 

We  are  the  hard-luck  folk,  who  strove 
Zealously,  but  in  vain; 

We  lost  and  lost,  while  our  comrades  throve, 
And  still  we  are  lost  again. 

We  are  the  doubles  of  those  whose  way 
Was  festal  with  fruits  and  flowers, 

Body  and  brain  we  were  sound  as  they, 

But  the  prizes  were  not  ours. 


616  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


A  mighty  army  our  full  ranks  make, 

We  shake  the  graves  as  we  go; 

The  sudden  stroke  and  the  slow  heart-break, 
They  both  have  brought  us  low. 

And  while  we  are  laying  life’s  sword  aside, 

Spent  and  dishonored  and  sad, 

Our  Epitaph  this,  when  once  we  have  died : 

“The  weak  lie  here,  and  the  bad.” 

We  wonder  if  this  can  be  really  the  close, 

Life’s  fever  cooled  by  death’s  trance; 

And  we  cry,  though  it  seem  to  our  dearest  of  foes, 
“God,  give  us  another  chance !” 


ABOU  BEN  ADHEM 
Leigh  Hunt 

Abou  Ben  Adhem  (may  his  tribe  increase!) 

Awoke  one  night  from  a  deep  dream  of  peace, 

And  saw  within  the  moonlight  in  his  room, 

Making  it  rich  and  like  a  lily  in  bloom, 

An  angel  writing  in  a  book  of  gold; 

Exceeding  peace  had  made  Ben  Adhem  bold, 

And  to  the  Presence  in  the  room  he  said, 

“What  writest  thou?”  The  vision  raised  its  head, 

And  with  a  look  made  of  all  sweet  accord, 

Answered,  “The  names  of  those  who  love  the  Lord.” 
“And  is  mine  one?”  said  Abou.  “Nay,  not  so,” 

Replied  the  angel.  Abou  spoke  more  low, 

But  cheerly  still,  and  said,  “I  pray  thee,  then, 

Write  me  as  one  who  loves  his  fellow-men.” 

The  angel  wrote  and  vanished;  the  next  night 
It  came  again  with  a  great  wakening  light, 

And  showed  their  names  whom  love  of  God  hath  blest, 
And  lo !  Ben  Adhem’s  name  led  all  the  rest. 


CONDUCT  OF  LIFE 


617 


THE  SONS  OF  MARTHA 
Rudyard  Kipling 

The  Sons  of  Mary  seldom  bother,  for  they  have  inherited  that 
good  part, 

But  the  Sons  of  Martha  favor  their  mother  of  the  careful  soul 
and  the  troubled  heart ; 

And  because  she  lost  her  temper  once,  and  because  she  was 
rude  to  the  Lord,  her  guest, 

Her  Sons  must  wait  upon  Mary’s  Sons — world  without  end, 
reprieve  or  rest. 

It  is  their  care  in  all  the  ages  to  take  the  buffet  and  cushion 
the  shock, 

It  is  their  care  that  the  gear  engages;  it  is  their  care  that  the 
switches  lock : 

It  is  their  care  that  the  wheels  run  truly;  it  is  their  care  to 
embark  and  entrain, 

Tally,  transport  and  deliver  duly  the  Sons  of  Mary  by  land  and 
main. 

They  say  to  the  mountains,  “Be  ye  removed!”  They  say  to  the 
lesser  floods,  “Run  dry!” 

Under  their  rods  are  the  rocks  reproved — they  are  not  afraid 
of  that  which  is  high; 

Then  do  the  hilltops  shake  to  the  summit,  then  is  the  bed  of 
the  deep  laid  bare, 

That  the  Sons  of  Mary  may  overcome  it,  pleasantly  sleeping 
and  unaware. 

They  finger  Death  at  their  glove’s  end  when  they  piece  and 
re-piece  the  living  wires. 

He  rears  against  the  gates  they  tend;  they  feed  him  hungry 
behind  their  fires. 

Early  at  dawn  ere  men  see  clear  they  stumble  into  his  terrible 
stall, 

And  hale  him  forth  like  haltered  steer  and  goad  and  turn 
him  till  evenfalb 


618  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


To  these  from  birth  is  belief  forbidden:  from  these  till  death 
is  relief  afar — 

They  are  concerned  with  matters  hidden — under  the  earth-line 
their  altars  are. 

The  secret  fountains  to  follow  up,  waters  withdrawn  to  restore 
to  the  mouth, 

Yea,  and  gather  the  floods  as  in  a  cup,  and  pour  them  again 
at  a  city’s  drouth. 

They  do  not  preach  that  their  God  will  rouse  them  a  little 
before  the  nuts  work  loose; 

They  do  not  teach  that  his  pity  allows  them  to  leave  their 
work  whenever  they  choose. 

As  in  the  thronged  and  the  lightened  ways,  so  in  the  dark  and 
the  desert  they  stand, 

Wary  and  watchful  all  their  days,  that  their  brethren’s  days 
may  be  long  in  the  land. 

Lift  ye  the  stone  and  cleave  the  wood,  to  make  a  path  more 
fair  or  flat. 

Lo !  it  is  black  already  with  blood  some  Son  of  Martha  spilled 
for  that. 

Not  as  a  ladder  from  earth  to  heaven,  not  as  an  altar  to  an> 
creed, 

But  simple  service,  simply  given  to  his  own  kind  in  their  com 
moil  need. 

And  the  Sons  of  Mary  smile  and  are  blessed — they  know  the 
angels  are  on  their  side, 

They  know  in  them  is  the  grace  confessed,  and  for  them  are 
the  mercies  multiplied. 

They  sit  at  the  Feet — they  hear  the  Word — they  know  how  truly 
the  Promise  runs. 

They  have  cast  their  burden  upon  the  Lord,  and — the  Lord  he 
lays  it  on  Martha’s  Sons. 


CONDUCT  OF  LIFE 


4.  Humility 

THE  SHEPHERD  BOY  SINGS 

John  Bunyan 

He  that  is  down  needs  fear  no  fall, 

He  that  is  low,  no  pride ; 

He  that  is  humble  ever  shall 
Have  God  to  be  his  guide. 

I  am  content  with  what  I  have, 

Little  be  it  or  much ; 

And,  Lord,  contentment  still  I  crave, 
Because  Thou  savest  such. 

Fullness  to  such  a  burden  is 
That  go  on  pilgrimage : 

Here  little,  and  hereafter  bliss 
Is  best  from  age  to  age. 

THE  HAPPIEST  HEART 
John  Vance  Cheney 

Who  drives  the  horses  of  the  sun 
Shall  lord  it  but  a  day ; 

Better  the  lowly  deed  were  done, 

And  kept  the  humble  way. 

The  rust  will  find  the  sword  of  fame, 
The  dust  will  hide  the  crown; 

Ay,  none  shall  nail  so  high  his  name 
Time  will  not  tear  it  down. 

The  happiest  heart  that  ever  beat 
Was  in  some  quiet  breast 

That  found  the  common  daylight  sweet, 
And  left  to  Heaven  the  rest. 


62 o  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


THE  HOUSE  BY  THE  SIDE  OF  THE  ROAD 

Sam  Walter  Foss 

There  are  hermit  souls  that  live  withdrawn 
In  the  place  of  their  self-content; 

There  are  souls  like  stars,  that  dwell  apart 
In  a  fellowless  firmament. 

There  are  pioneer  souls  that  blaze  their  paths 
Where  the  highways  never  ran — 

But  let  me  live  by  the  side  of  the  road 
And  be  a  friend  to  man. 

Let  me  live  in  a  house  by  the  side  of  the  road, 

Where  the  race  of  men  go  by — 

The  men  who  are  good  and  the  men  who  are  bad. 

As  good  and  as  bad  as  I. 

I  would  not  sit  in  the  scorner’s  seat, 

Or  hurl  the  cynic’s  ban — 

Let  me  live  in  the  house  by  the  side  of  the  road 
And  be  a  friend  to  man. 

I  see  from  my  house  by  the  side  of  the  road, 

By  the  side  of  the  highway  of  life, 

The  men  who  press  with  the  ardor  of  hope, 

The  men  who  faint  with  strife; 

But  I  turn  not  away  from  their  smiles  nor  their  tears— 
Both  parts  of  an  infinite  plan — 

Let  me  live  in  a  house  by  the  side  of  the  road 
And  be  a  friend  to  man. 

I  know  there  are  brook-gladdened  meadows  ahead, 

And  mountains  of  wearisome  height ; 

And  the  road  passes  on  through  the  long  afternoon 
And  stretches  away  to  the  night. 

But  still  I  rejoice  when  the  travelers  rejoice, 

And  weep  with  the  strangers  that  moan. 

Nor  live  in  my  house  by  the  side  of  the  road, 

Like  a  man  who  dwells  alone. 


CONDUCT  OF  LIFE 


621 


Let  me  live  in  my  house  by  the  side  of  the  road. 

Where  the  race  of  men  go  by — 

They  are  good,  they  are  bad,  they  are  weak,  they  are  strong, 
Wise,  foolish — so  am  I. 

Then  why  should  I  sit  in  the  scorner’s  seat 
Or  hurl  the  cynic’s  ban? 

Let  me  live  in  my  house  by  the  side  of  the  road, 

And  be  a  friend  to  man. 


O  WHY  SHOULD  THE  SPIRIT  OF  MORTAL  BE 

PROUD? 

William  Knox 

O  why  should  the  spirit  of  mortal  be  proud? 

Like  swift-flitting  meteor,  a  fast-flying  cloud, 

A  flash  of  the  lightning,  a  break  of  the  wave, 

He  passeth  from  life  to  his  rest  in  the  grave. 

The  leaves  of  the  oak  and  the  willow  shall  fade, 

Be  scattered  around  and  together  be  laid; 

And  the  young  and  the  old,  and  the  low  and  the  high, 

Shall  moulder  to  dust  and  together  shall  lie. 

The  child  that  a  mother  attended  and  loved, 

The  mother  that  infant’s  affection  who  proved, 

The  husband  that  mother  and  infant  who  blessed, 

Each,  all,  are  away  to  their  dwellings  of  rest. 

The  maid  on  who§e  brow,  on  whose  cheek,  in  whose  eye, 
Shone  beauty  and  pleasure, — her  triumphs  are  by; 

And  the  memory  of  those  who  have  loved  her  and  praised, 
Are  alike  from  the  minds  of  the  living  erased. 

The  hand  of  the  king  that  the  sceptre  hath  borne, 

The  brow  of  the  priest  that  the  mitre  hath  worn, 

The  eyes  of  the  sage,  and  the  heart  of  the  brave, — - 
Are  hidden  and  lost  in  the  depths  of  the  grave. 


622  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


The  peasant  whose  lot  was  to  sow  and  to  reap, 

The  herdsman  who  climbed  with  his  goats  to  the  steep, 
The  beggar  who  wandered  in  search  of  his  bread, — 
Have  faded  away  like  the  grass  that  we  tread. 

The  saint  who  enjoyed  the  communion  of  heaven, 

The  sinner  who  dared  to  remain  unforgiven, 

The  wise  and  the  foolish,  the  guilty  and  just, 

Have  quietly  mingled  their  bones  in  the  dust. 

So  the  multitude  goes,  like  the  flower  and  the  weed, 

That  wither  away  to  let  others  succeed ; 

So  the  multitude  comes,  like  those  we  behold, 

To  repeat  every  tale  that  hath  often  been  told. 

For  we  are  the  things  our  fathers  have  been; 

We  see  the  same  sights  that  our  fathers  have  seen, — 

We  drink  the  same  stream,  we  feel  the  same  sun, 

And  run  the  same  course  that  our  fathers  have  run. 

The  thoughts  we  are  thinking  our  fathers  would  think ; 
From  the  death  we  are  shrinking,  they,  too,  would  shrink; 
To  the  life  we  are  clinging,  they  too  would  cling; 

But  it  speeds  from  us  all  like  the  bird  on  the  wing. 

They  loved,  but  their  story  we  cannot  unfold ; 

They  scorned,  but  the  heart  of  the  haughty  is  cold; 

They  grieved,  but  no  wail  from  their  slumbers  will  come; 
They  joyed,  but  the  voice  of  their  gladness  is  dumb. 

They  died, — ay,  they  died;  and  we  things  that  are  now, 
Who  walk  on  the  turf  that  lies  over  their  brow, 

Who  make  in  their  dwellings  a  transient  abode, 

Meet  the  changes  they  met  on  their  pilgrimage  road. 

Yea,  hope  and  despondency,  pleasure  and  pain, 

Are  mingled  together  in  sunshine  and  rain ; 

And  the  smile  and  the  tear,  and  the  song  and  the  dirge, 
Still  follow  each  other  like  surge  upon  surge. 


CONDUCT  OF  LIFE 


623 


’Tis  the  wink  of  an  eye,  ’tis  the  draught  of  a  breath, 
From  the  blossom  of  health  to  the  paleness  of  death, 
From  the  gilded  saloon  to  the  bier  and  the  shroud, — 
Oh,  why  should  the  spirit  of  mortal  be  proud? 


5.  Opportunity 


TODAY 

Thomas  Carlyle 

So  here  hath  been  dawning 
Another  blue  day : 

Think,  wilt  thou  let  it 
Slip  useless  away? 

Out  of  Eternity 
This  new  day  is  born; 

Into  Eternity 

At  night  will  return. 

Behold  it  afore  time, 

No  eye  ever  did : 

So  soon  it  forever 
From  all  eyes  is  hid. 

Here  hath  been  dawning 
Another  blue  day : 

Think,  wilt  thou  let  it 
Slip  useless  away? 


THE  WATER  MILL 

Sara  Doudney 

Listen  to  the  water  mill, 
Through  the  live-long  day, 
How  the  clanking  of  its  wheels 
Wears  the  hours  away ! 


624  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


Languidly  the  autumn  wind 
Stirs  the  greenwood  leaves; 

From  the  field  the  reapers  sing, 
Binding  up  the  sheaves; 

And  a  proverb  haunts  my  mind, 

As  a  spell  is  cast : 

“The  mill  will  never  grind 

With  the  water  that  has  passed.,, 

Take  the  lesson  to  thyself, 

Loving  heart  and  true; 

Golden  years  are  fleeting  by, 

Youth  is  passing,  too; 

Learn  to  make  the  most  of  life, 

Lose  no  happy  day; 

Time  will  never  bring  thee  back 
Chances  swept  away. 

Leave  no  tender  word  unsaid, 

Love  while  life  shall  last — 

“The  mill  will  never  grind 

With  the  water  that  has  passed.” 

Work  while  the  daylight  shines, 

Man  of  strength  and  will, 

Never  does  the  streamlet  glide 
Useless  by  the  mill. 

Wait  not  till  tomorrow’s  sun 
Beams  upon  the  way ; 

All  thou  canst  call  thine  own 
Lies  in  thy  today. 

Power,  intellect  and  health 
May  not,  cannot  last; 

“The  mill ‘will  never  grind 

With  the  water  that  has  passed.” 

Oh,  the  wasted  hours  of  life 
That  have  drifted  by, 

Oh,  the  good  we  might  have  done, 
Lost  without  a  sigh ; 

Love  that  we  might  once  have  saved 


CONDUCT  OF  LIFE 


625 


By  a  single  word, 

Thoughts  conceived  but  never  penned, 

Perishing  unheard. 

Take  the  proverb  to,  thine  heaft, 

Take  !  oh,  hold  it  fast ! — 

“The  mill  will  never  grind 
With  the  water  that  has  passed.” 

IRREVOCABLE 

.  Mary  Wright  Plummer 

What  thou  hast  done  thou  hast  done ;  for  the  heavenly  horses 
are  swift. 

Think  not  their  flight  to  o’ertake, — they  stand  at  the  throne  even 
now. 

Ere  thou  canst  compass  the  thought,  the  immortals  in  just  hands 
shall  lift, 

Poise,  and  weigh  surely  thy  deed,  and  its  weight  shall  be  laid 
on  thy  brow; 

For  what  thou  hast  done  thou  hast  done. 

What  thou  hast  not  done  remains;  and  the  heavenly  horses  are 
kind. 

Till  thou  hast  pondered  thy  choice,  they  will  patiently  wait  at 
thy  door. 

Do  a  brave  deed,  and  behold !  they  are  farther  away  than  the 
wind. 

Returning,  they  bring  thee  a  crown,  to  shine  on  thy  brow  ever¬ 
more  ; 

For  what  thou  hast  done  thou  hast  done. 


OPPORTUNITY 

Edward  Rowland  Sill 

This  I  beheld,  or  dreamed  it  in  a  dream: — 
There  spread  a  cloud  of  dust  along  a  plain; 
And  underneath  the  cloud,  or  in  it,  raged 


626  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


A  furious  battle,  and  men  yelled,  and  swords 
Shocked  upon  swords  and  shields.  A  prince’s  banner 
Wavered,  then  staggered  backward,  hemmed  by  foes. 

A  craven  hung  along  the  battle’s  edge, 

And  thought,  ‘‘Had  I  a  sword  of  keener  steel — 

That  blue  blade  which  the  king’s  son  bears, — but  this 
Blunt  thing — !”  he  snapped  and  flung  it  from  his  hand, 
And  lowering  crept  away  and  left  the  field. 

Then  came  the  king’s  son,  wounded,  sore  bestead, 

And  weaponless,  and  saw  the  broken  sword, 

Hilt-buried  in  the  dry  and  trodden  sand, 

And  ran  and  snatched  it,  and  with  battle,  shout 
Lifted  afresh  he  hewed  his  enemy  down, 

And  saved  a  great  cause  that  heroic  day. 


6.  Loyalty  to  Your  Best  Self 


HARPS  HUNG  UP  IN  BABYLON 

Arthur  Colton 

The  harps  hung  up  in  Babylon, 

Their  loosened  strings  rang  on,  sang  on, 
And  cast  their  murmurs  forth  upon 
The  roll  and  the  roar  of  Babylon: 

Forget  me,  Lord,  if  I  forget 
Jerusalem  for  Babylon: 

If  I  forget  the  vision  set 
High  as  the  head  of  Lebanon 
Is  lifted  over  Syria  yet, 

If  I  forget  and  bow  me  down 
To  brutish  Gods  of  Babylon 

Two  rivers  to  each  other  run 
In  the  very  midst  of  Babylon, 

And  swifter  than  their  current  fleets 
The  restless  river  of  the  streets 


CONDUCT  OF  LIFE 


627 


Of  Babylon,  of  Babylon. 

And  Babylon’s  towers  smite  the  sky, 

But  higher  reeks  to  God  most  high 
The  smoke  of  her  iniquity : 

“But  oh,  betwixt  the  green  and  blue 
To  walk  the  hills  that  once  we  knew 
When  you  were  pure  and  I  was  true  — 
So  rang  the  harps  of  Babylon — 

“Or  ere  along  the  roads  of  stone 
Had  led  us  captive  one  by  one 
The  subtle  gods  of  Babylon.” 

The  harps  hung  up  in  Babylon 
Hung  silent  till  the  prophet  dawn, 

When  Judah’s  feet  the  highway  burned 
Back  to  the  holy  hills  returned, 

And  shook  their  dust  on  Babylon. 

In  Zion’s  halls  the  wild  harps  rang, 

To  Zion’s  walls  their  smitten  clang, 

And  lo !  of  Babylon  they  sang, 

They  only  sang  of  Babylon: 

“Jehovah,  round  whose  throne  of  awe 
The  vassal  stars  their  orbits  draw 
Within  the  circle  of  Thy  law, 

Const  thou  make  nothing  what  is  done , 
Or  cause  thy  servant  to  be  one 
That  has  not  been  in  Babylon, 

That  has  not  known  the  power  and  pain 
Of  life  poured  out  like  driven  rain ? 

I  will  go  down  and  find  again 
My  soul  that’s  lost  in  Bobylon.” 

VIRTUE 
George  Herbert 

Sweet  day,  so  cool,  so  calm,  so  bright! 
The  bridal  of  the  earth  and  sky: 

The  dew  shall  weep  thy  fall  tonight; 

For  thou  must  die. 


628  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

Sweet  rose,  whose  hue,  angry  and  brave 
Bids  the  rash  gazer  wipe  his  eye : 

Thy  root  is  ever  in  the  grave, 

And  thou  must  die. 

Sweet  spring,  full  of  sweet  days  and  roses, 

A  box  where  sweets  compacted  lie ; 

My  music  shows  ye  have  your  closes. 

And  all  must  die. 

Only  a  sweet  and  virtuous  soul, 

Like  seasoned  timber,  never  gives; 

But  though  the  whole  world  turn  to  coal, 

Then  chiefly  lives. 

THE  TREE  AND  THE  CHAFF 
Psalm  I 

From  Moulton’s  Modern  Reader’s  Bible 

Blessed  is  the  man  that  walketh  not  in  the  counsels  of  the 
wicked 

Nor  standeth  in  the  way  of  sinners, 

Nor  sitteth  in  the  seat  of  the  scornful. 

But  his  delight  is  in  the  law  of  the  Lord , 

And  in  his  law  doth  he  meditate  day  and  night. 

And  he  shall  be  like  a  tree  planted  by  the  streams  of  water, 
That  bringeth  its  fruit  in  its  season, 

Whose  leaf  also  doth  not  wither; 

And  whatsoever  he  doeth  shall  prosper. 

The  wicked  are  not  so ; 

But  are  like  the  chaff  which  the  wind  driveth  away. 

Therefore  the  wicked  shall  not  stand  in  the  judgment, 

Nor  sinners  in  the  congregation  of  the  righteous. 

For  the  Lord  knoweth  the  way  of  the  righteous; 

But  the  way  of  the  wicked  shall  perish. 


CONDUCT  OF  LIFE 


629 


THE  PILGRIM 

Richard  Wightman 

I  am  my  ancient  self, 

Long  paths  Eve  trod, 

The  living  light  before, 

Behind,  the  rod: 

And  in  the  beam  and  blow 
The  misty  God. 

I  am  my  ancient  self. 

My  flesh  is  young, 

But  old,  mysterious  words 
Engage  my  tongue, 

And  weird,  lost  songs 
Old  bards  have  sung. 

I  have  not  fared  alone. 

In  mount  and  dell 
The  one  I  fain  would  be 
Stands  by  me  well, 

And  bids  my  man’s  heart  list 
To  the  far  bell. 

Give  me  nor  ease  nor  goal — 
Only  the  Way, 

A  bit  of  bread  and  sleep 

Where  the  white  waters  play, 
The  pines,  the  patient  stars, 
And  the  new  day. 


THE  SERVANTS 

Richard  Wightman 

Singers,  sing !  The  hoary  world 
Needs  reminder  of  its  youth: 
Prophet,  tell !  The  darkness  lies 
On  the  labyrinths  of  truth : 


630  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

Builder,  build !  Let  rocks  uprise 
Into  cities  ’neath  thy  hand : 

Farmer,  till !  The  sun  and  rain 
Hearken  for  the  seed’s  demand : 

Artist,  paint !  Thy  canvases 
Patiently  convey  thy  soul : 

Writer,  write!  With  pen  blood-dipped 
Trace  no  segment,  but  the  whole: 

Teacher,  teach!  Thyself  the  creed — 

Only  that  a  child  may  know : 

Dreamer,  dream!  Nor  hide  thy  face 
Though  thy  castles  crumble  low. 

Where  the  toiler  turns  the  sod 
Man  beholds  the  living  God. 


7.  Loyalty  to  Duty 


RESOLVE 

Charlotte  Perkins  Gilman 

To  keep  my  health  ! 

To  do  my  work ! 

To  live ! 

To  see  to  it  I  grow  and  gain  and  give! 

Never  to  look  behind  me  for  an  hour ! 

To  wait  in  weakness  and  to  walk  in  power. 

But  always  fronting  onward  toward  the  light 
Always  and  always  facing  toward  the  right, 
Robbed,  starved,  defeated,  fallen,  wide  astray— 
On  with  what  strength  I  have 
Back  to  the  way ! 


CONDUCT  OF  LIFE 


631 


THE  NAMELESS  SAINTS 
Edward  Everett  Hale 

I 

What  was  his  name?  I  do  not  know  his  name. 

I  only  know  he  heard  God’s  voice  and  came, 
Brought  all  he  had  across  the  sea 
To  live  and  work  for  God  and  me; 

Felled  the  ungracious  oak; 

Dragged  from  the  soil 
With  horrid  toil 

The  thrice-gnarled  roots  and  stubborn  rock; 
With  plenty  piled  the  haggard  mountain-side; 

And  at  the  end,  without  memorial,  died. 

No  blaring  trumpets  sounded  out  his  fame, 

He  lived, — he  died, — I  do  not  know  his  name. 

II 

No  form  of  bronze  and  no  memorial  stones 
Show  me  the  place  where  lie  his  mouldering  bones. 
Only  a  cheerful  city  stands 
Builded  by  his  hardened  hands. 

Only  ten  thousand  homes 
Where  every  day 
The  cheerful  play 

Of  love  and  hope  and  courage  comes. 

These  are  his  monument,  and  these  alone. 

There  is  no  form  of  bronze  and  no  memorial  stone. 

III 

And  I? 

Is  there  some  desert  or  some  pathless  sea 
Where  Thou,  Good  God  of  angels,  wilt  send  me? 
Some  oak  for  me  to  rend;  some  sod, 

Some  rock  for  me  to  break; 

Some  handful  of  His  corn  to  take 


632  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


And  scatter  far  afield, 

Till  it,  in  turn,  shall  yield 
Its  hundredfold 
Of  grains  of  gold 

To  feed  the  waiting  children  of  my  God? 
Show  me  the  desert,  Father,  or  the  sea. 

Is  it  Thine  enterprise?  Great  God,  send  me. 
And  though  this  body  lie  where  ocean  rolls. 
Count  me  among  all  Faithful  Souls. 


OBEDIENCE 

George  MacDonald 

I  said :  “Let  me  walk  in  the  fields.” 

He  said:  “No,  walk  in  the  town.” 

I  said:  “There  are  no  flowers  there.” 

He  said:  “No  flowers,  but  a  crown.” 

I  said :  “But  the  skies  are  black ; 

There  is  nothing  but  noise  and  din.” 

And  He  wept  as  He  sent  me  back — 

“There  is  more,”  He  said;  “there  is  sin.” 

I  said :  “But  the  air  is  thick, 

And  fogs  are  veiling  the  sun.” 

He  answered:  “Yet  souls  are  sick, 

And  souls  in  the  dark  undone !” 

I  said:  “I  shall  miss  the  light, 

And  friends  will  miss  me,  they  say.” 

He  answered :  “Choose  tonight 
If  I  am  to  miss  you  or  they.” 

I  pleaded  for  time  to  be  given. 

He  said:  “Is  it  hard  to  decide? 

It  will  not  seem  so  hard  in  heaven 

To  have  followed  the  steps  of  your  Guide.” 


CONDUCT  OF  LIFE 


633 


I  cast  one  look  at  the  fields, 

Then  set  my  face  to  the  town; 

He  said,  “My  child,  do  you  yield? 

Will  you  leave  the  flowers  for  the  crown?” 

Then  into  His  hand  went  mine ; 

And  into  my  heart  came  He ; 

And  I  walk  in  a  light  divine, 

The  path  I  had  feared  to  see. 


THE  REPLY  OF  SOCRATES 
Edith  M.  Thomas 

This  from  that  soul  incorrupt  whom  Athens  had  doomed  to  the 
death, 

When  Crito  brought  promise  of  freedom:  “Vainly  thou  spendest 
thy  breath ! 

Dost  remember  the  wild  Corybantes?  feel  they  the  knife  or  the 
rod  ? 

Heed  they  the  fierce  summer  sun,  the  frost,  or  winterly  flaws  ? — 

If  any  entreat  them  they  answer,  ‘We  hear  but  the  flutes  of  the 
God !’ 

“So  even  am  I,  O  my  Crito !  Thou  pleadest  a  losing  cause ! 

Thy  words  are  but  sound  without  import — I  hear  but  the  voice 
of  the  Laws; 

And,  know  thou,  the  voice  of  the  Laws  is  to  me  as  the  flutes  of 
the  God.” 

Thus  spake  that  soul  incorrupt,  and  wherever,  since  hemlock 
was  quaffed, 

A  man  has  stood  forth  without  fear — has  chosen  the  dark,  deep 
draught ! — 

Has  taken  the  lone  one  way,  nor  the  path  of  dishonour  has 
trod — 

Behold !  He,  too,  hears  but  the  voice  of  the  Laws,  the  flutes  of 
the  God ! 


634  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


ODE  TO  DUTY 

William  Wordsworth 

Stern  Daughter  of  the  Voice  of  God! 

O  Duty !  if  that  name  thou  love, 

Who  art  a  light  to  guide,  a  rod 
To  check  the  erring,  and  reprove; 

Thou,  who  art  victory  and  law 
When  empty  terrors  overawe, 

From  vain  temptations  dost  set  free, 

And  calm’st  the  weary  strife  of  frail  humanity! 

There  are  who  ask  not  if  thine  eye 
Be  on  them;  who,  in  love  and  truth, 

Where  no  misgiving  is,  rely 
Upon  the  genial  sense  of  youth : 

Glad  Hearts !  without  reproach  or  blot, 

Who  do  Thy  work  and  know  it  not : 

Oh !  if  through  confidence  misplaced 

They  fail,  thy  saving  arms,  dread  Power !  around  them  cast. 

Serene  will  be  our  days  and  bright, 

And  happy  will  our  nature  be, 

When  love  is  an  unerring  light, 

And  joy  its  own  security. 

And  they  a  blissful  course  may  hold 
Even  now,  who,  not  unwisely  bold, 

Live  in  the  spirit  of  this  creed; 

Yet  seek  thy  firm  support  according  to  their  need. 

I,  loving  freedom,  and  untried; 

No  sport  of  every  random  gust, 

Yet  being  to  myself  a  guide, 

Too  blindly  have  reposed  my  trust: 

And  oft,  when  in  my  heart  was  heard 
Thy  timely  mandate,  I  deferred 
The  task,  in  smoother  walks  to  stray; 

But  thee  I  now  would  serve  more  strictly,  if  I  may. 


CONDUCT  OF  LIFE 


635 


Through  no  disturbance  of  my  soul, 

Or  strong  compunction  in  me  wrought, 

I  supplicate  for  thy  control; 

But  in  the  quietness  of  thought : 

Me  this  unchartered  freedom  tires; 

I  feel  the  weight  of  chance  desires : 

My  hopes  no  more  must  change  their  name, 

I  long  for  a  repose  that  ever  is  the  same. 

Stern  Lawgiver !  yet  thou  dost  wear 
The  Godhead’s  most  benignant  grace ; 

Nor  know  we  anything  so  fair 
As  is  the  smile  upon  thy  face : 

Flowers  laugh  before  thee  upon  their  beds 
And  fragrance  in  thy  footing  treads; 

Thou  dost  preserve  the  stars  from  wrong; 

And  the  most  ancient  heavens,  through  thee,  are  fresh  and 
strong. 

To  humbler  functions,  awful  Power! 

I  call  thee :  I  myself  commend 
Unto  thy  guidance  from  this  hour; 

Oh,  let  my  weakness  have  an  end ! 

Give  unto  me,  made  lowly  wise, 

The  spirit  of  self-sacrifice; 

The  confidence  of  reason  give; 

And  in  the  light  of  truth  thy  Bondman  let  me  live ! 


* 


8.  Creeds 


CREEDS 

Karle  Wilson  Baker 

Friend,  you  are  grieved  that  I  should  go 
Unhoused,  unsheltered,  gaunt  and  free, 
My  cloak  for  armor — for  my  tent 
The  roadside  tree ; 


636  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

And  I — I  know  not  how  you  bear 
A  roof  betwixt  you  and  the  blue, 

Brother,  the  creed  would  stifle  me 
That  shelters  you. 

Yet,  that  same  light  that  floods  at  dawn 
Your  cloistered  room,  your  cryptic  stair, 
Wakes  me  too — sleeping  by  the  hedge — 

To  morning  prayer ! 

MY  CREED 
Alice  Cary 

I  hold  that  Christian  grace  abounds 
Where  charity  is  seen;  that  when 

We  climb  to  heaven,  ’tis  on  the  rounds 
Of  love  to  men. 

I  hold  all  else  named  piety 

A  selfish  scheme,  a  vain  pretense; 

Where  center  is  not — can  there  be 
Circumference  ? 

This  I  moreover  hold,  and  dare 

Affirm  where’er  my  rhyme  may  go, — 

Whatever  things  be  sweet  and  fair, 

Love  makes  them  so. 

Whether  it  be  the  lullabies 

That  charm  to  rest  the  nursling  bird, 

Or  the  sweet  confidence  of  sighs 
And  blushes,  made  without  a  word. 

Whether  the  dazzling  and  the  flush 
Of  softly  sumptuous  garden  bowers, 

Or  by  some  cabin  door,  a  bush 
Of  ragged  flowers. 

’Tis  not  the  wide  phylactery, 

Nor  stubborn  fast,  nor  stated  prayers, 

That  make  us  saints:  we  judge  the  tree 
By  what  it  bears. 


CONDUCT  OF  LIFE 


637 


And  when  a  man  can  live  apart 
From  works,  on  theologic  trust, 

I  know  the  blood  about  his  heart 
Is  dry  as  dust. 

MY  CREED 
Jeanette  Gilder 

I  do  not  fear  to  tread  the  path  that  those  I  love  long  since  have 
trod; 

I  do  not  fear  to  pass  the  gates  and  stand  before  the  living  God. 

In  this  world’s  fight  I’ve  done  my  part;  if  God  be  God  He 
knows  it  well; 

He  will  not  turn  His  back  on  me  and  send  me  down  to  blackest 
hell 

Because  I  have  not  prayed  aloud  and  shouted  in  the  market 
place. 

Tis  what  we  do,  not  what  we  say,  that  makes  us  worthy  of  His 
grace. 


RELIGION  AND  DOCTRINE 
John  Hay 

He  stood  before  the  Sanhedrim; 

The  scowling  rabbis  gazed  at  him. 

He  recked  not  of  their  praise  or  blame; 
There  was  no  fear,  there  was  no  shame, 
For  one  upon  whose  dazzled  eyes 
The  whole  world  poured  its  vast  surprise. 
The  open  heaven  was  far  too  near, 

His  first  day’s  light  too  sweet  and  clear, 

To  let  him  waste  his  new-gained  ken 
On  the  hate-clouded  face  of  men. 

But  still  they  questioned,  Who  art  thou? 
What  hast  thou  been?  What  art  thou  now? 


638  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

Thou  art  not  he  who  yesterday 
Sat  here  and  begged  beside  the  way; 

For  he  was  blind. 


And  I  am  he; 

For  I  was  blind ,  but  now  I  see. 

He  told  the  story  o’er  and  o’er; 

It  was  his  full  heart’s  only  lore ; 

A  prophet  on  the  Sabbath-day 

Had  touched  his  sightless  eyes  with  clay, 

And  made  him  see  who  had  been  blind. 

Their  words  passed  by  him  like  the  wind, 
Which  raves  and  howls,  but  cannot  shock 
The  hundred-fathom-rooted  rock. 

Their  threats  and  fury  all  went  wide; 

They  could  not  touch  his  Hebrew  pride. 

Their  sneers  at  Jesus  and  His  band, 

Nameless  and  homeless  in  the  land, 

Their  boasts  of  Moses  and  his  Lord, 

All  could  not  change  him  by  one  word. 

“I  know  not  what  this  man  may  be, 

Sinner  or  saint;  but  as  for  me, 

One  thing  I  know, — that  I  am  he 
Who  once  was  blind,  and  now  I  see  A 

They  were  all  doctors  of  renown, 

The  great  men  of  a  famous  town, 

With  deep  brows,  wrinkled,  broad,  and  wise, 
Beneath  their  wide  phylacteries; 

The  wisdom  of  the  east  was  theirs, 

And  honor  crowned  their  silver  hairs. 

The  man  they  jeered  and  laughed  to  scorn 
Was  unlearned,  poor,  and  humbly  born; 

But  he  knew  better  far  than  they 
What  came  to  him  that  Sabbath-day; 

And  what  the  Christ  had  done  to  him, 

He  knew,  and  not  the  Sanhedrim. 


CONDUCT  OF  LIFE 


639 


A  CREED 

Norman  McLeod 

I  believe  in  Human  Kindness 
Large  amid  the  sons  of  men, 
Nobler  far  in  willing  blindness 
Than  in  censure’s  keenest  ken. 

I  believe  in  Self-Denial, 

And  its  secret  throb  of  joy; 

In  the  love  that  lives  through  trial, 
Dying  not,  though  death  destroy. 

I  believe  in  dreams  of  Duty, 
Warning  us  to  self-control — 
Foregleams  of  the  glorious  beauty 
That  shall  yet  transform  the  soul. 
In  the  godlike  wreck  of  nature 
Sin  doth  in  the  sinner  leave, 

That  he  may  regain  the  stature 
He  hath  lost, — I  do  believe. 

I  believe  in  Love  renewing 
All  that  sin  hath  swept  away, 
Leaven-like  its  work  pursuing 
Night  by  night  and  day  by  day: 
In  the  power  of  its  remoulding, 

In  the  grace  of  its  reprieve, 

In  the  glory  of  beholding 
Its  perfection, — I  believe. 

I  believe  in  Love  Eternal, 

Fixed  in  God’s  unchanging  will, 
That  beneath  the  deep  infernal 
Hath  a  depth  that’s  deeper  still ! 
In  its  patience — its  endurance 
To  forbear  and  to  retrieve, 

In  the  large  and  full  assurance 
Of  its  triumph, — I  believe. 


640  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


SOME  BLESSEDS 
John  Oxenham 

Blessed  are  they  that  have  eyes  to  see. 

They  shall  find  God  everywhere. 

They  shall  see  Him  where  others  see  stones. 

Blessed  are  they  that  have  understanding  hearts. 

To  them  shall  be  multiplied  kingdoms  of  delight. 

Blessed  are  they  that  see  visions. 

They  shall  rejoice  in  the  hidden  ways  of  God. 

Blessed  are  the  song-fid  of  soul , 

They  carry  light  and  joy  to  shadowed  lives. 

Blessed  are  they  who  know  the  power  of  Love. 

They  dwell  in  God  for  God  is  Love. 

Blessed  are  the  dead, 

For  they  are  with  God. 

Blessed  are  the  living, 

For  they  can  still  serve  God. 

Blessed  are  they  who  rejoice  in  their  children, 

To  them  is  revealed  the  Father-Motherhood  of  God. 

Blessed  are  the  childless,  loving  children  still. 

Theirs  shall  be  mightier  family, 

Even  as  the  stars  of  heaven. 

Blessed  are  the  souls  kept  virgin  for  mankind, 

Unto  them  shall  be  given  unbounded  kingdom  of  great  joy. 

•» 

Blessed  are  the  faithful  strong, 

They  are  the  right  hands  of  God. 


CONDUCT  OF  LIFE 


641 


Blessed  are  they  that  dwell  in  peace, — 

If  they  forget  not  God. 

Blessed  are  they  that  fight  for  the  Right , 

They  shall  save  their  souls, 

For  God  is  with  them. 

Blessed  are  they  whose  memories  we  cherish. 

Our  thoughts  add  jewels  to  their  crowns. 

Blessed  are  they  who,  through  tribulation ,  have  come  to  perfect 
trust, 

Theirs  is  the  peace  which  passeth  understanding. 

Blessed  are  the  burdened  of  heart  to  whom  the  comforter  has 
come. 

They  foretaste  the  joy  of  heaven. 

Blessed  are  the  souls  all  bare  before  God, 

He  shall  clothe  them  with  His  Peace  and  Love. 

Blessed  is  the  people  whose  heart  is  set  on  God, 

It  shall  STAND. 


A  GENEROUS  CREED 

Elizabeth  Stuart  Phelps 

Saying  “There  is  no  hope/’  he  stepped 
A  little  from  our  side  and  passed 
To  hope  eternal.  At  the  last 
Crying  “There  is  no  rest,”  he  slept. 

A  sweeter  spirit  ne’er  drew  breath; 

Strange  grew  the  chill  upon  the  air, 

But  as  he  murmured  “This  is  death,” 

Lo !  life  itself  did  meet  him  there. 

He  loved  the  will;  he  did  the  deed; 

Such  love  shall  live ;  such  doubt  is  dust ; 
He  served  the  truth ;  he  missed  the  creed. 
Trust  him  to  God.  Dear  is  the  trust. 


642  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


RITUAL  NOT  RELIGION 

Telugu  E.  Indian,  16th  Century  A.D. 

Will  seeing  Concan  make  a  dog  a  lion? 

Or  Kasi  make  a  pig  as  great 
As  any  elephant?  How  then 
Can  they  a  saintly  man  create  ? 

Though  he  should  daily  read  or  hear 
The  Veds,  the  sinner  still  is  vile. 

Will  not  its  blackness  still  appear 

Though  coal  be  washed  in  milk  a  while. 

Thy  creed  and  prayers  may  both  be  right, 
But  see  that  truth  makes  every  plan; 
Else  thou  shalt  never  see  the  light. 

The  truthful  is  the  twice-born  man. 

The  fount  of  happiness  is  in 

The  heart.  The  foolish  man  confides 
In  man !  He’s  like  the  stupid  swain 
Who  seeks  the  lamb  his  bosom  hides. 


b .  social  (god  in  all  great  movements) 
i.  Social  Struggle 


From  THE  PRESENT  CRISIS 
James  Russell  Lowell 

Count  me  o’er  earth’s  chosen  heroes, — they  were  souls  that  stood 
alone, 

While  the  men  they  agonized  for  hurled  the  contumelious  stone, 
Stood  serene,  and  down  the  future  saw  the  golden  beam  incline 


CONDUCT  OF  LIFE 


643 


To  the  side  of  perfect  justice,  mastered  by  their  faith  divine, 

By  one  man’s  plain  truth  to  manhood  and  to  God’s  supreme 
design. 

By  the  light  of  burning  heretics  Christ’s  bleeding  feet  I  track, 

Toiling  up  new  Calvaries  ever  with  the  cross  that  turns  not 
back, 

And  these  mounts  of  anguish  number  how  each  generation 
learned 

One  new  word  of  that  grand  Credo  which  in  prophet-hearts 
hath  burned 

Since  the  first  man  stood  God-conquered  with  his  face  to 
Heaven  upturned. 

For  Humanity  sweeps  onward :  where  to-day  the  martyr  stands, 

On  the  morrow  crouches  Judas  with  the  silver  in  his  hands; 

Far  in  front  the  cross  stands  ready  and  the  crackling  fagots 
burn, 

While  the  hooting  mob  of  yesterday  in  the  silent  awe  return 

To  glean  up  the  scattered  ashes  into  history’s  golden  urn. 


THE  PRESENT 
Adelaide  Anne  Proctor 

Do  not  crouch  to-day  and  worship 
The  old  Past  whose  life  is  fled, 

Hush  your  voice  with  tender  reverence, 
Crowned  he  lies,  but  cold  and  dead; 

For  the  Present  reigns  our  monarch, 
With  an  added  weight  of  hours; 

Honour  her  for  she  is  mighty ! 

Honour  her,  for  she  is  ours ! 

See  the  shadows  of  his  heroes, 

Girt  around  her  cloudy  throne ; 

Every  day  the  ranks  are  strengthened 
By  great  hearts  to  him  unknown; 

Noble  things  the  great  Past  promised, 
Holy  dreams  both  strange  and  new, 


644  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

But  the  Present  shall  fulfil  them, 

What  he  promised,  she  shall  do. 

She  inherits  all  his  treasures, 

She  is  heir  to  all  his  fame; 

And  the  light  that  lightens  round  her 
Is  the  lustre  of  his  name. 

She  is  wise  with  all  his  wisdom, 

Living  on  his  grave  she  stands ; 

On  her  brow  she  bears  his  laurels, 

And  his  harvest  in  her  hands. 

Coward,  can  she  reign  and  conquer 
If  we  thus  her  glory  dim? 

Let  us  fight  for  her  as  nobly 
As  our  fathers  fought  for  him. 

God,  who  crowns  the  dying  ages, 

Bids  her  rule  and  us  obey; 

Bids  us  cast  our  lives  before  her, 

Bids  us  save  the  great  To-day. 


2.  National  Affairs 


BATTLE  HYMN  OF  THE  REPUBLIC 
Julia  Ward  Howe 

Mine  eyes  have  seen  the  glory  of  the  coming  of  the  Lord: 

He  is  trampling  out  the  vintage  where  the  grapes  of  wrath  are 
stored ; 

He  hath  loosed  the  fateful  lightning  of  His  terrible  swift  sword: 
His  truth  is  marching  on. 

I  have  seen  Him  in  the  watch-fires  of  a  hundred  circling 
camps, 

They  have  builded  Him  an  altar  in  the  evening  dews  and  damps; 
I  can  read  His  righteous  sentence  by  the  dim  and  flaring  lamps : 
His  day  is  marching  on. 


CONDUCT  OF  LIFE 


645 


I  have  read  a  fiery  gospel  writ  in  burnished  rows  of  steel : 

“As  ye  deal  with  my  contemners  so  with  you  my  grace  shall 
deal ; 

Let  the  Hero,  born  of  woman,  crush  the  serpent  with  his  heel, 
Since  God  is  marching  on !” 

He  has  sounded  forth  the  trumpet  that  shall  never  call  retreat; 
He  is  sifting  out  the  hearts  of  men  before  His  judgment  seat. 
Oh,  be  swift,  my  soul,  to  answer  Him!  be  jubilant,  my  feet! 
Our  God  is  marching  on. 

In  the  beauty  of  the  lilies  Christ  was  born  across  the  sea, 

With  a  glory  in  His  bosom  that  transfigures  you  and  me; 

As  He  died  to  make  men  holy,  let  us  die  to  make  men  free, 
While  God  is  marching  on. 


UNMANIFEST  DESTINY 
Richard  Hovey 

To  what  new  fates,  my  country,  far 
And  unforeseen  of  foe  or  friend. 

Beneath  what  unexpected  star, 

Compelled  to  what  unchosen  end, 

Across  the  sea  that  knows  no  beach 
The  Admiral  c  £  nations  guides 

Thy  blind  obedient  keels  to  reach 
The  harbor  where  thy  future  rides ! 

The  guns  that  spoke  at  Lexington 
Knew  not  that  God  was  planning  then 

The  trumpet  words  of  Jefferson 
To  bugle  forth  the  rights  of  men. 

To  them  that  wept  and  cursed  Bull  Run, 
What  was  it  but  despair  and  shame  ? 

Who  saw  behind  the  cloud  the  sun? 

Who  knew  that  God  was  in  the  flame  ? 


646  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


Had  not  defeat  upon  defeat, 

Disaster  on  disaster  come, 

The  slave’s  emancipated  feet 

Had  never  marched  behind  the  drum. 

There  is  a  Hand  that  bends  our  deeds 
To  mightier  issues  than  we  planned; 

Each  son  that  triumphs,  each  that  bleeds. 
My  country,  serves  Its  dark  command. 

I  do  not  know  beneath  what  sky 

Nor  on  what  seas  shall  be  thy  fate; 

I  only  know  it  shall  be  high, 

1  only  know  it  shall  be  great. 

THE  REPUBLIC 

Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow 

Thou,  too,  sail  on,  O  Ship  of  State ! 

Sail  on,  O  Union !  strong  and  great ! 

Humanity  with  all  its  fears, 

With  all  its  hopes  of  future  years, 

Is  hanging  breathless  on  thy  fate ! 

We  know  what  Master  laid  thy  keel, 

What  Workmen  wrought  thy  ribs  of  steel. 

Who  made  each  mast  and  sail  and  rope, 

What  anvils  rang,  what  hammers  beat, 

In  what  a  forge,  at  what  a  heat 
Were  shaped  the  anchors  of  thy  hope! 

Fear  not  each  sudden  sound  and  shock, 

’Tis  of  the  wave,  and  not  the  rock: 

’Tis  but  the  flapping  of  a  sail 
And  not  a  rent  made  by  the  gale  ! 

In  spite  of  rock  and  tempests’  roar, 

In  spite  of  false  lights  on  the  shore, 

Sail  on,  nor  fear  to  breast  the  sea ! 

Our  hearts,  our  hopes,  are  all  with  thee, 

Our  hearts,  our  hopes,  our  prayers,  our  tears.* 
Our  faith,  triumphant  o’er  our  fears, 

Are  all  with  thee — are  all  with  thee ! 


CONDUCT  OF  LIFE 


647 


From  GLOUCESTER  MOORS 

William  Vaughn  Moody 

This  earth  is  not  the  steadfast  place 
We  landsmen  build  upon; 

From  deep  to  deep  she  varies  pace, 
And  while  she  comes  is  gone. 
Beneath  my  feet  I  feel 
Her  smooth  bulk  heave  and  dip ; 
With  velvet  plunge  and  soft  upreel 
She  swings  and  steadies  to  her  keel 
Like  a  gallant,  gallant  ship 


God,  dear  God !  Does  she  know  her  port, 
Though  she  goes  so  far  about? 

Or  blind  astray,  does  she  make  her  sport 
To  brazen  and  chance  it  out? 

I  watched  when  her  captains  passed : 

She  were  better  captainless. 

Men  in  the  cabin,  before  the  mast 
But  some  were  reckless  and  some  aghast, 
And  some  sat  gorged  at  mess. 


But  thou,  vast  outbound  ship  of  souls, 
What  harbor  town  for  thee? 

What  shapes,  when  thy  arriving  tolls, 
Shall  crowd  the  banks  to  see? 

Shall  all  the  happy  shipmates  then 
Stand  singing  brotherly? 

Or  shall  a  haggard  ruthless  few 
Warp  her  over  and  bring  her  to, 

While  the  many  broken  souls  of  men 
Fester  down  in  the  slaver’s  pen 
And  nothing  to  say  or  do? 


s 


648  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


3.  International  Affairs 

THE  SOUL’S  ERRAND 
Sir  Walter  Raleigh 

Go,  soul,  the  body’s  guest, 

Upon  a  thankless  errand ! 

Fear  not  to  touch  the  best, 

The  truth  shall  be  thy  warrant: 
Go,  since  I  needs  must  die, 

And  give  the  world  the  lie. 

Go,  tell  the  court  it  glows, 

And  shines  like  rotten  wood ; 

Go,  tell  the  church  it  shows 
What’s  good  and  doth  no  good : 

If  church  and  court  reply, 
Then  give  them  both  the  lie. 

Tell  potentates  they  live 
Acting  by  others’  actions ; 

Not  loved  unless  they  give, 

Not  strong  but  by  their  factions : 
If  potentates  reply, 

Give  potentates  the  lie. 

Tell  men  of  high  condition 
That  rule  affairs  of  state, 

Their  purpose  is  ambition, 

Their  practice  only  hate  : 

And  if  they  once  reply, 

Then  give  them  all  the  lie. 

Tell  those  that  brave  it  most, 

They  beg  for  more  by  spending, 

Who  in  their  greatest  cost, 


CONDUCT  OF  LIFE 


649 


Seek  nothing  but  commending: 

And  if  they  make  reply, 

Then  give  them  all  the  lie. 

Tell  zeal  it  lacks  devotion; 

Tell  love  it  is  but  lust; 

Tell  time  it  is  but  motion; 

Tell  flesh  it  is  but  dust: 

And  wish  them  not  reply, 

For  thou  must  give  the  lie. 

Tell  age  it  daily  wasteth; 

Tell  honor  how  it  alters; 

Tell  beauty  how  she  blasteth; 

Tell  favor  how  she  falters: 

And  as  they  shall  reply, 

Give  every  one  the  lie. 

Tell  wit  how  much  it  wrangles 
In  tickle  points  of  niceness; 

Tell  wisdom  she  entangles 
Herself  in  overwiseness : 

And  when  they  do  reply, 

Straight  give  them  both  the  lie. 

Tell  physic  of  her  boldness; 

Tell  skill  it  is  pretension; 

Tell  charity  of  coldness; 

Tell  law  it  is  contention: 

And  as  they  do  reply, 

So  give  them  still  the  lie. 

Tell  arts  they  have  no  soundness, 

But  vary  by  esteeming; 

Tell  schools  they  want  profoundness, 
And  stand  too  much  on  seeming: 

If  arts  and  schools  reply,' 

Give  arts  and  schools  the  lie. 

Tell  faith  it’s  fled  the  city; 

Tell  how  the  country  erreth; 


650  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


Tell  manhood  shakes  off  pity; 

Tell  virtue  least  preferreth: 

And  if  they  do  reply, 

Spare  not  to  give  the  lie. 

So  when  thou  hast,  as  I 

Commanded  thee,  done  blabbing; 
Although  to  give  the  lie 

Deserves  no  less  than  stabbing : 
Yet  stab  at  thee  who  will, 

No  stab  the  Soul  can  kill ! 


IN  THE  DAWN 
Odell  Shepard 

Peace !  The  perfect  word  is  sounding,  like  a  universal  hymn. 
Under  oceans,  over  mountains,  to  the  world’s  remotest  rim. 

Light !  At  last  the  deadly  arrows  of  the  Archer  find  their  mark. 
Loathsome  forms  are  shuddering  backward  to  the  shelter  of  the 
dark. 

Hope !  The  nations  stand  together  on  the  borders  of  a  dawn 
That  shall  dim  the  noonday  splendor  of  the  ages  that  are  gone. 

Peace,  and  light,  and  hope  of  morning !  Let  the  belfries  reel 
and  sway 

While  the  world  is  swinging  swiftly  out  of  darkness  into  day. 

Let  the  forests  of  the  steeples,  blown  by  one  compelling  wind, 
Swing  and  sway  and  clash  together  one  vast  peal  for  all  man¬ 
kind, 

While  we  roll  up  out  of  darkness,  out  of  death,  out  of  the  gloom 
Of  a  blighted  planet  plunging  blindly  downward  to  its  doom. 

Into  light  beyond  our  dreaming,  into  peace,  goodwill  toward 
men, 

Hope  beyond  the  poet’s  vision,  joy  beyond  the  prophet’s  ken. 


CONDUCT  OF  LIFE  651 

While  we  stand  here  in  the  gray  dawn,  in  these  early  dews  of 
time, 

On  this  height  the  toil  of  ages  has  but  just  availed  to  climb, 

Brothers,  let  us  pause  a  moment.  .  .  .  Many  a  darkling  moun¬ 
tain  towers 

Tall  against  the  stars  behind  us,  only  less  sublime  than  ours. 

Many  a  peak  of  ancient  quiet  glimmers  lonely  in  the  snow 

Whence  a  shout  of  joy  went  skyward  silent  centuries  ago. 

France,  with  Europe  singing  round  her  in  her  false  dawn  fair 
and  brief ; 

England,  with  the  vast  Armada  rocking  helpless  on  the  reef ; 

Rome,  when  through  the  Temple  of  Janus  clanged  and  clashed 
each  rusty  gate; 

Athens,  hurling  Persia  homeward  headlong  like  a  river  in 
spate.  .  .  . 

All  of  these  have  climbed  before  us  to  a  distant  Pisgah-sight 

Of  a  land  they  never  entered.  Shall  we  also  lose  our  light? 

Other  earlier  dawns  before  this  bloomed,  and  withered.  Men 
have  scaled 

Many  a  peak  of  dream — and  died  there.  Shall  we  falter  where 
they  failed  ? 

Shall  the  nations  still,  forever,  struggle  forward  one  by  one? 

Or  shall  we  go  up  together,  brother-like,  to  greet  the  sun? 

We  shall  falter,  strength  will  fail  us,  dreams  will  perish  utterly, 

Our  high  hope  will  be  a  byword  and  a  scornful  memory 

If  we  stand  not  strong  together  in  this  hour,  if  heart  and  hand 

Be  not  plighted  firm  and  steadfast,  linking  alien  land  to 
land  .  .  . 

Ah,  but  see,  we  stand  together,  hand  in  hand  and  eye  to  eye ! 

This,  in  all  the  backward  ages,  has  not  been  beneath  the  sky. 


652  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

Other  days  have  had  their  glory,  but  these  days  of  triumph  are 

Kingliest  of  all  that  ever  dawned  upon  this  ancient  star. 

And  behold !  At  last  our  country  takes  her  rightful  place  with 
men. 

Never  shall  the  seas  divide  her  from  the  world’s  great  need 
again. 

That  old  dream  has  fled  forever,  that  we  dwell,  serene  and  far, 

With  God’s  special  smile  to  light  us,  on  some  steady  separate 
star. 

All  we  are  the  Old  World  made  us.  Where  it  lost  we  learned 
to  gain. 

We  have  triumphed  through  its  failures,  built  our  joy  upon  its 
pain. 

Greece  foretold  us,  Rome  foresaw  us,  gave  us  beauty,  wisdom, 
law ; 

France  gave  vision;  England  made  us  strong  to  win  the  good  we 
saw. 

Toiling  centuries  have  struggled  upward  on  a  stony  way 

Just  to  set  the  torch  of  freedom  where  it  flames  aloft  to-day. 

Shall  the  children  of  the  ages  fail  them  in  this  mighty  trust, 

Let  their  beacon  pale  and  dwindle,  quench  its  beauty  in  the  dust? 

Rather,  we  shall  hold  it  higher,  shake  its  splendor  through  the 
sky, 

Searching  out  each  nook  of  shadow  till  the  things  of  darkness 
die. 

Where  a  woman  still  is  vassal,  where  a  child  is  still  a  slave, 

There  shall  rise  our  instant  bivouac,  there  be  digged  a  tyrant’s 
grave. 

All  the  old  forlorn  lost  causes,  every  fair  forbidden  dream, 

And  the  prophet’s  hopeless  vision  and  the  poet’s  flitting  gleam, 


CONDUCT  OF  LIFE  653 

All  the  hopes  of  subject  peoples,  all  the  dreams  of  the  op¬ 
pressed, 

Must  be  ours,  our  hopes,  our  visions.  We  can  never  stay  or 
rest 

Till  our  beacon  pales  above  us,  dies  into  the  level  ray 
Painting  every  peak  and  valley  with  the  light  of  golden  day, 

Till  the  rounded  earth  together,  to  the  last  isle  of  the  sea, 

All  our  many-languaged  kindred  shall  be  free  as  we  are  free. 


Praise  to  all  the  past  that  made  us  in  the  heat  of  its  desire ; 

Glory  to  our  elder  brothers,  those  swift  runners  with  the  fire 

From  the  dimmest  edge  of  distance,  who  have  perished  far 
away, 

Far  beneath  the  light  we  stand  in,  many  years  before  our  day. 

With  the  wind  their  breath  is  woven,  and  their  holy  dust  is 
whirled 

Dizzily  along  the  highways  of  the  swift-forgetting  world.  .  .  . 

Hearts  that  dared  and  brains  that  labored,  hands  that  toiled  to 
build  our  day, 

Drifting,  drifting  through  the  chambers  of  dead  years,  and 
blown  away ! 

How  their  brows  were  bright  with  wonder !  How  their  feet 
were  shod  with  flame ! 

Beautiful  upon  the  mountains  was  the  shining  way  they  came. 

Freedom  wears  their  names  about  her  as  a  starry  diadem. 

In  this  hour  of  exultation  shall  we  not  remember  them? 

Buried  deep  beneath  the  ages  in  the  dust  of  old  decay. 

They  have  heard  our  sweet  stern  bugles  blow  reveille  to  the  day, 

To  the  golden  day  they  died  for,  paid  for  with  immortal  pains, 

And  they  rise  and  live  within  us  like  great  wine  along  our  veins. 


654  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

They  are  fragrance  in  the  dawn  wind.  They  are  beauty  in  th; 
flower.  .  .  . 

Let  us  bow  our  heads  before  them  humbly  now.  This  is  their 
hour. 


We  are  standing  in  the  gray  dawn  of  a  day  they  did  not  know, 

On  a  height  they  only  dreamed  of,  toiling  darkly  far  below ; 

But  our  gaze  is  toward  a  summit  loftier,  fairer,  mist-encurled, 

Soaring  skyward  through  the  twilight  from  the  bases  of  the 
world. 

Other  feet  than  ours  may  stand  there  on  the  mountain’s  lonely 
crown ; 

We  may  faint  upon  the  high  trails,  fall  and  lay  our  burden 
down ; 

Yet,  enough  to  fill  one  lifetime  is  this  joy  Death  cannot 
touch  .  .  . 

Peace,  and  light,  and  hope  of  morning !  These  are  ours,  and 
these  are  much. 

Wondrous  day  to  be  alive  in  when,  with  furious  might  and 
main, 

God  is  fashioning  the  future  on  the  anvil-horns  of  pain ! 

Every  life,  however  humble,  takes  a  touch  of  the  sublime 

From  the  light  that  bathes  our  sun-washed  pinnacle  of  dawning 
time. 

Forward,  then!  And  onward,  upward/ toward  the  greater  days 
to  be, 

All  the  nations  singing  with  us  one  great  song,  fraternally. 

Up  and  up,  achieving,  failing,  weak  in  flesh  but  strong  of 
soul.  .  .  . 

We  may  never  live  to  reach  it.  Ah,  but  we  have  seen  the  goal! 


CONDUCT  OF  LIFE 


655 


THE  NEW  VICTORY 
Margaret  Widdemer 
Victory  comes : 

Not  hard  and  laughing  as  she  came  of  yore, 

Her  scarlet  arms  heaped  high  with  spoils  of  war; 
Her  slaves,  to  beating  drums, 

Low  bent  and  bearing  gifts  .  .  . 

The  black  cloud  lifts; 

And,  lifting  our  long-weary  eyes  to  see, 

There  dawns  upon  our  sight, 

Majestic,  crowned  with  light, 

Stern  and  so  quiet — she  must  keep  her  strength 
To  build  at  weary  length 
Over  again,  a  scarred  and  shattered  world — 
This,  then,  this  is  she, 

Our  grave  Victory ! 

She  follows  down  the  furrows 
War-turned  across  the  world, 

Where  still  the  spent  shell  burrows, 

Where  the  black  shot  was  hurled, 

And  sows  the  wheat  and  corn. 

The  world  from  anguish  born 
Again  from  its  old  grief, 

Looks  up  athirst, 

And  hungering, 

Daring  to  dream  again 

Of  flowers  unhurt  and  unstained  rain 

And  Love  and  Spring: 

Knowing  that  she  shall  build  each  place  accursed 
Into  a  thing  that  may  some  day  again 
Be  our  once  land  of  comfort  and  delight, 

Of  ease  and  mockery, 

Even  forgetfulness : 

Even  the  gift  to  bless. 

Victory  paces  slowly  through  the  lands: 

No  lash  is  in  her  hands, 


656  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

She  builds  herself  no  triumph  arch  for  cover, 

No  common  marble  toy— 

She  is  too  great  for  joy. 

She  who  upbuilds 
Each  little  shattered  home 

And  brings  men  back  to  it;  and  lover  gives  to  lover, 
And  to  the  shattered  souls  its  faith  again, 

And  to  the  world  continuance  of  God — 

How  should  our  praise  for  her 

In  high  crowned  buildings  stand — oh?  how  be  pent 

In  built  or  written  thing? 

The  stable  world  itself  is  her  great  monument. 


AN  INSPIRATION 

Ella  Wheeler  Wilcox 

However  the  battle  is  ended, 

Though  proudly  the  victor  comes 
With  fluttering  flags  and  prancing  nags 
And  echoing  roll  of  drums, 

Still  truth  proclaims  this  motto, 

In  letters  of  living  light, — 

No  question  is  ever  settled, 

Until  it  is  settled  right. 

Though  the  heel  of  the  strong  oppressor 
May  grind  the  weak  to  dust, 

And  the  voices  of  fame  with  one  acclaim 
May  call  him  great  and  just, 

Let  those  who  applaud  take  warning, 

And  keep  this  motto  in  sight, — 

No  question  is  ever  settled 
Until  it  is  settled  right. 

Let  those  who  have  failed  take  courage; 

Tho’  the  enemy  seems  to  have  won, 

Tho’  his  ranks  are  strong,  if  he  be  in  the  wrong 
The  battle  is  not  yet  done; 


CONDUCT  OF  LIFE 


657 


For,  as  sure  as  the  morning  follows 
The  darkest  hour  of  the  night, 

No  question  is  ever  settled 
Until  it  is  settled  right. 

O  man  bowed  down  with  labor ! 

A  woman,  young,  yet  old ! 

O  heart  oppressed  in  the  toiler’s  breast 
And  crushed  by  the  power  of  gold ! 
Keep  on  with  your  weary  battle 
Against  triumphant  might; 

No  question  is  ever  settled 
Until  it  is  settled  right. 


\ 


' 

• 

■ 

- 


XI.  Death  and  Immortality 

a.  PERSONAL  IMMORTALITY 

b.  IMPERSONAL  IMMORTALITY 
C.  ETERNAL  SLEEP 


- 


'•  ■  ; 


.  ■ 

' 


XI.  Death  and  Immortality 

a.  PERSONAL  IMMORTALITY 


A  TRAVELLER 
Anonymous 

Into  the  dusk  and  snow 
One  fared  yesterday : 

No  man  of  us  may  know 
By  what  mysterious  way. 

He  had  been  a  comrade  long; 

We  fain  would  hold  him  still; 

But,  though  our  will  be  strong, 
There  is  a  stronger  Will. 

Beyond  the  solemn  night 

He  will  find  the  morning  dream, 

The  summer’s  kindling  light 
Beyond  the  chill  snow’s  gleam. 

The  clear  unfaltering  eye, 

The  inalienable  soul, 

The  calm,  high  energy, — 

They  will  not  fail  the  goal ! 

Large  will  be  our  content 
If  it  be  ours  to  go 

One  day  the  path  he  went, 

Into  the  dusk  and  snow ! 

66 1 


662 


THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


RESURGAM 

Anonymous 

“I  shall  arise.”  For  centuries 

Upon  the  grey  old  churchyard  stone 
These  words  have  stood;  no  more  is  said, 
The  glorious  promise  stands  alone, 
Untouched,  while  years  and  seasons  roll 
Around  it ;  March  winds  come  and  go, 

The  summer  twilights  fall  and  fade, 

And  autumn  sunsets  burn  and  glow. 

“I  shall  arise” !  O  wavering  heart, 

From  this  take  comfort  and  be  strong! 

“I  shall  arise”;  nor  always  grope 

In  darkness,  mingling  right  with  wrong ; 
From  tears  and  pain,  from  shades  of  doubt, 
And  wants  within,  that  blindly  call, 

“I  shall  arise,”  in  God’s  own  light 
Shall  see  the  sum  and  truth  of  all. 

Like  children  here  we  lisp  and  grope, 

And,  till  the  perfect  manhood,  wait 
At  home  our  time,  and  only  dream 
Of  that  which  lies  beyond  the  gate: 

God’s  full  free  universe  of  life, 

No  shadowy  paradise  of  bliss, 

No  realm  of  unsubstantial  souls, 

But  life,  more  real  life  than  this. 

O  soul !  where’er  your  ward  is  kept, 

In  some  still  region  calmly  blest, 

By  quiet  watch-fires  till  the  dawn 
And  God’s  reveille  break  your  rest, 

O  soul !  that  left  this  record  here, 

I  read,  but  scarce  can  read  for  tears, 

I  bless  you,  reach  and  clasp  your  hand, 

For  all  these  long  two  hundred  years. 


DEATH  AND  IMMORTALITY 


663 


“I  shall  arise” — O  clarion  call ! 

Time  rolling  onward  to  the  end 
Brings  us  to  life  that  cannot  die, 

The  life  where  faith  and  knowledge  blend. 
Each  after  each,  the  cycles  roll 
In  silence,  and  about  us  here 
The  shadow  of  the  great  White  Throne 
Falls  broader,  deeper,  year  by  year. 


AFTER  DEATH  IN  ARABIA 

Edwin  Arnold 

He  who  died  at  Azan  sends 
This  to  comfort  all  his  friends : 

Faithful  friends!  It  lies,  I  know 
Pale  and  white  and  cold  as  snow; 

And  ye  say,  “Abdallah's  dead” ! 
Weeping  at  the  feet  and  head. 

I  can  see  your  falling  tears, 

I  can  hear  your  sighs  and  prayers; 

Yet  I  smile  and  whisper  this: 

“I  am  not  the  thing  you  kiss ; 

Cease  your  tears  and  let  it  lie ; 

It  was  mine — it  is  not  I.” 

Sweet  Friends!  What  the  women  lave 
For  its  last  bed  in  the  grave, 

Is  a  tent  which  I  am  quitting, 

Is  a  garment  no  more  fitting, 

Is  a  cage,  from  which  at  last, 

Like  a  hawk,  my  soul  hath  passed. 

Love  the  inmate,  not  the  room — 

The  wearer,  not  the  garb; — the  plume 

Of  the  falcon,  not  the  bars 

That  kept  him  from  these  splendid  stars ! 


664  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


Loving  friends !  be  wise,  and  dry 
Straightway  every  weeping  eye. 

What  ye  lift  upon  the  bier 
Is  not  worth  a  wistful  tear. 

’Tis  an  empty  sea  shell, — one 
Out  of  which  the  pearl  is  gone; 

The  shell  is  broken,  it  lies  there; 

The  pearl,  the  all,  the  soul,  is  here. 

’Tis  an  earthen  jar,  whose  lid 
Allah  sealed,  the  while  it  hid 
That  treasure  of  his  treasury, 

A  mind  that  loved  him ;  let  it  lie ! 

Let  the  shard  be  the  earth’s  once  more, 
Since  the  gold  shines  in  his  store ! 

Allah  glorious  !  Allah  good  ! 

Now  thy  world  is  understood; 

Now  the  long,  long  wonder  ends! 

Yet  ye  weep,  my  erring  friends, 

While  the  man  whom  ye  call  dead. 

In  unspoken  bliss,  instead, 

Lives  and  loves  you ;  lost,  ’tis  true, 

By  such  light  as  shines  for  you ; 

But  in  light  you  cannot  see 
Of  unfulfilled  felicity, — 

In  enlarging  paradise, 

Lives  a  life  that  never  dies. 

Farewell,  friends,  yet  not  farewell; — • 
Where  I  am  ye  too  shall  dwell. 

I  am  gone  before  your  face, 

A  moment’s  time,  a  little  space. 

When  ye  come  where  I  have  stepped, 
Ye  will  wonder  why  ye  wept; 

Ye  will  know  by  wise  love  taught, 
That  here  is  all  and  there  is  naught. 
Weep  a  while,  if  ye  are  fain, — 
Sunshine  still  must  follow  rain ; 

Only  not  at  death, — for  death, 

Now  I  know,  is  that  first  breath 


DEATH  AND  IMMORTALITY 


665 


Which  our  souls  draw  when  we  enter 
Life,  which  is  of  all  life  center. 

Be  ye  certain  all  seems  love, 

Viewed  from  Allah’s  throne  above ; 
Be  ye  stout  of  heart  and  come, 
Bravely  onward  to  your  home ! 

La  Allah  ilia  Allah!  yea! 

Thou  love  divine,  thou  love  alway ! 

He  who  died  at  Azan  gave 
This  to  those  who  made  his  grave. 


RUGBY  CHAPEL 

Matthew  Arnold 

Coldly,  sadly  descends 
The  autumn  evening.  The  field 
Strewn  with  its  dank  yellow  drifts 
Of  withered  leaves,  and  the  elms, 

Fade  into  dimness  apace, 

Silent; — hardly  a  shout 

From  a  few  boys  late  at  their  play! 

The  lights  come  out  in  the  street, 

In  the  school-room  windows ; — but  cold, 
Solemn,  unlighted,  austere, 

Through  the  gathering  darkness,  arise 
The  chapel  walls,  in  whose  bound 
Thou,  my  father !  art  laid. 

•  •  !••••# 

O  strong  soul,  by  what  shore 
Tarriest  thou  now?  For  that  force, 
Surely,  has  not  been  left  vain ! 
Somewhere,  surely,  afar, 

I11  the  sounding  labor-house  vast 
Of  being,  is  practised  that  strength, 
Zealous,  beneficent,  firm ! 


666 


THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


Yes,  in  some  far-shining  sphere, 
Conscious  or  not  of  the  past, 

Still  thou  performest  the  word 

Of  the  Spirit  in  whom  thou  dost  live — 

Prompt,  unwearied,  as  here ! 

Still  thou  upraisest  with  zeal 
The  humble  good  from  the  ground, 
Sternly  repressest  the  bad ! 

Still,  like  a  trumpet,  dost  rouse 
Those  who,  with  half-open  eyes 
Tread  the  border-land  dim 
’Twixt  vice  and  virtue;  revivest, 
Succorest ! — this  was  thy  work, 

This  was  thy  life  upon  earth. 

What  is  the  course  of  the  life 
Of  mortal  men  on  the  earth? — 

Most  men  eddy  about 
Here  and  there — eat  and  drink, 

Chatter  and  love  and  hate, 

Gather  and  squander,  are  raised 
Aloft,  are  hurled  in  the  dust, 

Striving  blindly,  achieving 
Nothing;  and  then  they  die— 

Perish; — and  no  one  asks 
Who  or  what  they  have  been, 

More  than  he  asks  what  waves, 

In  the  moonlit  solitudes  mild 
Of  the  midmost  ocean,  have  swelled, 
Foam’d  for  a  moment,  and  gone. 

And  there  are  some,  whom  a  thirst 
Ardent,  unquenchable,  fires, 

Not  with  the  crowd  to  be  spent, 

Not  without  aim  to  go  round 
In  an  eddy  of  purposeless  dust, 

Effort  unmeaning  and  vain. 

Ah,  yes !  some  of  us  strive 
Not  without  action  to  die 
Fruitless,  but  something  to  snatch 


DEATH  AND  IMMORTALITY 


667 


From  dull  oblivion,  nor  all 
Glut  the  devouring  grave ! 

We,  we  have  chosen  our  path — 

Path  to  a  clear-purposed  goal, 

Path  of  advance ! — but  it  leads 
A  long  steep  journey,  through  sunk 
Gorges,  o’er  mountains  of  snow, 
Cheerful,  with  friends,  we  set  forth — 
Then,  on  the  height,  comes  the  storm. 
Thunder  crashes  from  rock 
To  rock,  the  cataracts  reply, 
Lightnings  dazzle  our  eyes. 

Roaring  torrents  have  breached 
The  track,  the  stream-bed  descends 
In  the  place  where  the  wayfarer  once 
Planted  his  footstep — the  spray 
Boils  o’er  its  borders !  aloft 
The  unseen  snow-beds  dislodge 
Their  hanging  ruin;  alas. 

Havoc  is  made  in  our  train ! 

Friends  who  set  forth  at  our  side, 
Falter,  are  lost  in  the  storm. 

We,  we  only  are  left! 

With  frowning  foreheads,  with  lips 
Sternly  compressed,  we  strain  on, 

On — and  at  nightfall  at  last 
Come  to  the  end  of  our  way, 

To  the  lonely  inn  ’mid  the  rocks; 
Where  the  gaunt  and  taciturn  host 
Stands  on  the  threshold,  the  wind 
Shaking  his  thin  white  hairs — - 
Holds  his  lantern  to  scan 
Our  storm-beat  figures,  and  asks; 
Whom  in  our  party  we  bring? 

Whom  have  we  left  in  the  snow? 

Sadly  we  answer :  we  bring 
Only  ourselves !  we  lost 
Sight  of  the  rest  in  the  storm. 


668  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


Hardly  ourselves  we  fought  through, 
Stripped,  without  friends,  as  we  are. 
Friends,  companions,  and  train, 

The  avalanche  swept  from  our  side. 

But  thou  wouldst  not  alone 
Be  saved,  my  father  !  alone 
Conquer  and  come  to  thy  goal. 
Leaving  the  rest  in  the  wild. 

We  were  weary,  and  we 
Fearful,  and  we  in  our  march 
Fain  to  drop  down  and  to  die. 

Still  thou  turnedst,  and  still 
Beckonedst  the  trembler,  and  still 
Gavest  the  weary  thy  hand. 
«••••••• 

And  through  thee  I  believe 
In  the  noble  and  great  who  are  gone; 
Pure  souls  honored  and  blest 
By  former  ages,  who  else — 

Such,  so  soulless,  so  poor, 

Is  the  race  of  men  whom  I  see — 
Seem’d  but  a  dream  of  the  heart, 
Seem’d  but  a  cry  of  desire. 

Yes!  I  believe  that  there  lived 
Others  like  thee  in  the  past, 

Not  like  the  men  of  the  crowd 
Who  all  round  me  today 
Bluster  or  cringe,  and  make  life 
Hideous,  and  arid,  and  vile; 

But  souls  tempered  with  fire. 

Fervent,  heroic,  and  good, 

Helpers  and  friends  of  mankind. 

Servants  of  God  ! — or  sons 
Shall  I  not  call  you  ?  because 
Not  as  servants  ye  knew 
Your  Father’s  innermost  mind, 

His,  who  unwillingly  sees 
One  of  his  little  ones  lost — 


DEATH  AND  IMMORTALITY 


669 


Yours  is  the  praise,  if  mankind 
Hath  not  as  yet  in  its  march 
Fainted,  and  fallen  and  died! 


See !  in  the  rocks  of  the  world 
Marches  the  host  of  mankind, 

A  feeble,  wavering  line. 

Where  are  they  tending? — A  God 
Marshalled  them,  gave  them  their  goal. 
Ah,  but  the  way  is  so  long  ! 

Years  they  have  been  in  the  wild! 

Sore  thirst  plagues  them,  the  rocks. 
Rising  ail  round,  overawe ; 

Factions  divide  them,  their  host 
Threatens  to  break,  to  dissolve. 

— Ah,  keep,  keep  them  combined ! 

Else  of  the  myriads  who  fill 
That  army,  not  one  shall  arrive ; 

Sole  they  shall  stray ;  in  the  rocks 
Stagger  forever  in  vain, 

Die  one  by  one  in  the  waste. 


Then,  in  such  hour  of  need 
Of  your  fainting,  dispirited  race. 

Ye,  like  angels,  appear, 

Radiant  with  ardor  divine  ! 

Beacons  of  hope,  ye  appear ! 
Languor  is  not  in  your  heart, 
Weakness  is  not  in  your  word, 
Weariness  not  on  your  brow. 

Ye  alight  in  our  van!  at  your  voice. 
Panic,  despair,  flee  away. 

Ye  move  through  the  ranks,  recall 
The  stragglers,  refresh  the  outworn. 
Praise,  re-inspire  the  brave  ! 

Order,  courage,  return. 

Eyes  rekindling,  and  prayers, 

Follow  your  steps  as  ye  go. 

Ye  fill  up  the  gaps  in  our  files. 


670  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

Strengthen  the  wavering  lines, 

’Stablish,  continue  our  march, 

On,  to  the  bound  of  the  waste, 

On,  to  the  city  of  God. 


DEATH 

Maltbie  Babcock 

Why  be  afraid  of  death,  as  though  your  life  were  breath? 
Death  but  anoints  your  eyes  with  clay.  O  glad  surprise ! 

Why  should  you  be  forlorn?  Death  only  husks  the  corn. 
Why  should  you  fear  to  meet  the  thresher  of  the  wheat? 

Is  sleep  a  thing  to  dread?  Yet  sleeping  you  are  dead 
Till  you  awake  and  rise,  here,  or  beyond  the  skies. 

Why  should  it  be  a  wrench  to  leave  your  wooden  bench? 
Why  not,  with  happy  shout,  run  home  when  school  is  out 

The  dear  ones  left  behind?  Oh,  foolish  one  and  blind  l 
A  day  and  you  will  meet — a  night  and  you  will  greet. 

This  is  the  death  of  death,  to  breathe  away  a  breath 
And  know  the  end  of  strife,  and  taste  the  deathless  life, 

And  joy  without  a  fear,  and  smile  without  a  tear; 

And  work,  nor  care  to  rest,  and  find  the  last  the  best. 


PROSPICE 
Robert  Browning 

Fear  death? — to  feel  the  fog  in  my  throat, 
The  mist  in  my  face, 

When  the  snows  begin,  and  the  blasts  denote 
I  am  nearing  the  place, 


DEATH  AND  IMMORTALITY  671 

The  power  of  the  night,  the  press  of  the  storm, 

The  post  of  the  foe ; 

Where  he  stands,  the  Arch  Fear  in  a  visible  form, 

Yet  the  strong  man  must  go; 

For  the  journey  is  done  and  the  summit  attained, 

And  the  barriers  fall, 

Though  a  battle’s  to  fight  ere  the  guerdon  be  gained, 

The  reward  of  it  all. 

I  was  ever  a  fighter,  so — one  fight  more, 

The  best  and  the  last ! 

I  would  hate  that  death  bandaged  my  eyes,  and  forebore, 
And  bade  me  creep  past. 

No !  let  me  taste  the  whole  of  it,  fare  like  my  peers 
The  heroes  of  old, 

Bear  the  brunt,  in  a  minute  pay  glad  life’s  arrears 
Of  pain,  darkness  and  cold. 

For  sudden  the  worst  turns  the  best  to  the  brave, 

The  black  minute’s  at  end, 

And  the  elements’  rage,  the  fiend-voices  that  rave, 

Shall  dwindle,  shall  blend, 

Shall  change,  shall  become  first  a  peace  out  of  pain. 

Then  a  light,  then  thy  breast, 

O  thou  soul  of  my  soul !  I  shall  clasp  thee  again, 

And  with  God  be  the  rest ! 


AULD  LANG  SYNE 

John  White  Chadwick 

It  singeth  low  in  every  heart, 

We  hear  it  each  and  all, — 

A  song  of  those  who  answer  not, 
However  we  may  call ; 

They  throng  the  silence  of  the  breast, 

We  see  them  as  of  yore, — 

The  kind,  the  brave,  the  true,  the  sweet, 
Who  walk  with  us  no  more. 


672  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

’Tis  hard  to  take  the  burden  up, 

When  these  have  laid  it  down; 

.  They  brightened  all  the  joy  of  life, 

They  softened  every  frown; 

But  oh,  ’tis  good  to  think  of  them, 

When  we  are  troubled  sore ! 

Thanks  be  to  God  that  such  have  been. 
Although  they  are  no  more ! 

More  home-like  seems  the  vast  unknown, 

Since  they  have  entered  there ; 

To  follow  them  were  not  so  hard. 

Wherever  they  may  fare ; 

They  cannot  be  where  God  is  not, 

On  any  sea  or  shore ; 

Whate’er  betides,  Thy  love  abides, 

Our  God,  for  evermore. 


THE  CHARIOT 

Emily  Dickinson 

Because  I  could  not  stop  for  Death, 

He  kindly  stopped  for  me; 

The  carriage  held  but  just  ourselves, 

And  Immortality. 

We  slowly  drove,  he  knew  no  haste, 

And  I  had  put  away 
My  labor  and  my  leisure,  too, 

For  his  civility. 

We  passed  the  school  where  children  played, 
Their  lessons  scarcely  done; 

We  passed  the  fields  of  gazing  grain, 

We  passed  the  setting  sun. 

We  paused  before  a  house  that  seemed 
A  swelling  of  the  ground: 


DEATH  AND  IMMORTALITY 


673 


The  roof  was  scarcely  visible, 

The  cornice  but  a  mound. 

Since  then,  ’tis  centuries;  but  each 
Feels  shorter  than  the  day 
I  first  surmised  the  horses’  heads 
Were  toward  eternity. 


DEATH 

Emily  Dickinson 

Death  is  a  dialogue  between 
The  spirit  and  the  dust. 

“Dissolve,”  says  Death;  the  spirit,  “Sir? 
I  have  another  trust.” 

Death  doubts  it,  argues  from  the  ground* 
The  spirit  turns  away, 

Just  laying  off,  for  evidence, 

An  overcoat  of  clay. 


DEATH 

Emily  Dickinson 

The  bustle  in  the  house 
The  morning  after  death 
Is  solemnest  of  industries 
Enacted  upon  earth  ; — 

The  sweeping  up  the  heart 
And  putting  love  away 
We  shall  not  want  to  use  again 
Until  eternity. 


674  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


RESURGAM 

Emily  Dickinson 

At  last  to  be  identified! 

At  last,  the  lamps  upon  thy  side 
The  rest  of  life  to  see ! 

Past  midnight,  past  the  morning  star ! 
Past  sunrise  !  Ah !  what  leagues  there  are 
Between  our  feet  and  day ! 


THIRST 

Emily  Dickinson 

We  thirst  at  first, — ’tis  nature’s  act; 

And,  later,  when  we  die 
A  little  water  supplicate 
Of  fingers  going  by. 

It  intimates  the  finer  wants 
Whose  adequate  supply 
Is  that  great  water  in  the  West, 
Termed  Immortality. 


TWO  MYSTERIES 
Mary  Mapes  Dodge 

We  know  not  what  it  is,  dear,  this  sleep  so  deep  and  still; 

The  folded  hands,  the  awful  calm,  the  cheek  so  pale  and  chill; 
The  lids  that  will  not  lift  again,  though  we  may  call  and  call; 
The  strange  white  solitude  of  peace  that  settles  over  all. 


DEATH  AND  IMMORTALITY 


675 


We  know  not  what  it  means,  dear,  this  desolate  heart  pain; 
This  dread  to  take  our  daily  way,  and  walk  in  it  again ; 

We  know  not  to  what  other  sphere  the  loved  who  leave  us  go, 
Nor  why  we’re  left  to  wonder  still,  nor  why  we  do  not  know. 

But  this  we  know :  our  loved  and  dead,  if  they  should  come  this 
day,— 

Should  come  and  ask  us,  “What  is  Life?” — not  one  of  us  could 
say. 

Life  is  a  mystery,  as  deep  as  ever  death  can  be; 

Yet,  oh,  how  dear  it  is  to  us,  this  life  we  live  and  see ! 

Then  might  they  say — these  vanished  ones — and  blessed  is  the 
thought, 

“So  death  is  sweet  to  us,  beloved!  though  we  may  show  you 
naught ; 

We  may  not  to  the  quick  reveal  the  mystery  of  death — 

Ye  cannot  tell  us,  if  ye  would,  the  mystery  of  breath!” 

The  child  who  enters  life  comes  not  with  knowledge  or  intent, 
So  those  who  enter  death  must  go  as  little  children  sent. 

Nothing  is  known.  But  I  believe  that  God  is  overhead; 

And  as  life  is  to  the  living,  so  death  is  to  the  dead. 


THE  GOD  OF  THE  LIVING 
John  Ellerton 

God  of  the  living,  in  whose  eyes 
Unveiled  thy  whole  creation  lies  ! 

All  souls  are  thine ;  we  must  not  say 
That  those  are  dead  who  pass  away ; 
From  this  our  world  of  flesh  set  free; 
We  know  them  living  unto  thee. 

Released  from  earthly  toil  and  strife, 
With  thee  is  hidden  still  their  life; 
Thine  are  their  thoughts,  their  words, 
their  powers, 

All  thine,  and  yet  most  truly  ours: 


6;6  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

For  well  we  know,  where’er  they  be, 

Our  dead  are  living  unto  thee. 

Not  spilt  like  water  on  the  ground, 

Not  wrapt  in  dreamless  sleep  profound, 

Not  wandering  in  unknown  despair 
Beyond  thy  voice,  thine  arm,  thy  care; 

Not  left  to  lie  like  fallen  tree; 

Not  dead,  but  living  unto  thee. 

O  Breather  into  man  of  breath ! 

O  Holder  of  the  keys  of  death ! 

O  Giver  of  the  Life  within ! 

Save  us  from  death,  the  death  of  sin; 

That  body,  soul,  and  spirit  be 
Forever  living  unto  thee ! 


DRYAD  SONG 
Margaret  Fuller 

I  am  immortal !  I  know  it !  I  feel  it ! 

Hope  floods  my  heart  with  delight? ! 

Running  on  air,  mad  with  life,  dizzy,  reeling, 
Upward  I  mount, — faith  is  sight,  life  is  feeling, 
Hope  is  the  day-star  of  might ! 

It  was  thy  kiss,  Love,  that  made  me  immortal, — 
“‘Kiss,’  Love?  Our  lips  have  not  met!” 

Ah,  but  I  felt  thy  soul  through  night’s  portal 
Swoon  on  my  lips  at  night’s  sweet,  silent  portal, 
Wild  and  sweet  as  regret. 

Come,  let  us  mount  on  the  wings  of  the  morning, 
Flying  for  joy  of  the  flight, 

Wild  with  all  longing,  now  soaring,  now  staying, 
Mingling  like  day  and  dawn,  swinging  and  swaying, 
Hung  like  a  cloud  in  the  light : 

I  am  immortal !  I  feel  it !  I  feel  it ! 

Love  bears  me  up,  love  is  might ! 


DEATH  AND  IMMORTALITY 


677 


Chance  cannot  touch  me!  Time  cannot  hush  me! 

Fear,  Hope,  and  Longing,  at  strife, 

Sink  as  I  rise,  on,  on,  upward  forever, 

Gathering  strength,  gaining  breath, — naught  can  sever 
Me  from  the  Spirit  of  Life! 


CALL  ME  NOT  DEAD 

Richard  Watson  Gilder 

Call  me  not  dead  when  I,  indeed,  have  gone 
Into  the  company  of  the  ever-living 
High  and  most  glorious  poets  !  Let  thanksgiving 
Rather  be  made.  Say :  ‘‘He  at  last  hath  won 
Rest  and  release,  converse  supreme  and  wise, 

Music  and  song  and  light  of  immortal  faces; 

To-day,  perhaps,  wandering  in  starry  places, 

He  hath  met  Keats,  and  known  him  by  his  eyes. 
To-morrow  (who  can  say!)  Shakespeare  may  pass, 

And  our  lost  friend  just  catch  one  syllable 
Of  that  three-centuried  wit  that  kept  so  well ; 

Or  Milton;  or  Dante,  looking  on  the  grass 

Thinking  of  Beatrice,  and  listening  still 

To  chanted  hymns  that  sound  from  the  heavenly  hill.” 


LONGING  FOR  FIOME 

Jean  Ingelow 

A  Song  of  a  Boat 

There  was  once  a  boat  on  a  billow : 

Lightly  she  rocked  to  her  port  remote, 

And  the  foam  was  white  in  her  wake  like  snow, 

And  her  frail  mast  bowed  when  the  breeze  would  blow. 
And  bent  like  a  wand  of  willow. 


678  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


I  shaded  mine  eyes  one  day  when  a  boat 
Went  curtseying  over  the  billow, 

I  marked  her  course  till,  a  dancing  mote, 

She  faded  out  on  the  moonlit  foam, 

And  I  stayed  behind  in  the  dear-loved  home ; 

And  my  thoughts  all  day  were  about  the  boat, 

And  my  dreams  upon  the  pillow. 

I  pray  you  hear  my  song  of  a  boat, 

For  it  is  but  short : — 

My  boat,  you  shall  find  none  fairer  afloat, 

In  river  or  port. 

Long  I  looked  out  for  the  lad  she  bore, 

On  the  open  desolate  sea ; 

And  I  think  he  sailed  to  the  heavenly  shore, 

For  he  came  not  back  to  me — 

Ah,  me ! 

A  Song  of  a  Nest 

There  was  once  a  nest  in  a  hollow ; 

Down  in  the  mosses  and  knot-grass  pressed, 

Soft  and  warm  and  full  to  the  brim; 

Vetches  leaned  over  it,  purple  and  dim, 

With  buttercup  buds  to  follow. 

I  pray  you  hear  my  song  of  a  nest, 

For  it  is  not  long: — 

You  shall  never  light,  in  a  summer  quest 
The  bushes  among — 

Shall  never  light  on  a  prouder  sitter, 

A  fairer  nestful,  nor  ever  know 
A  softer  sound  than  their  tender  twitter, 

That,  wind-like,  did  come  and  go. 

I  had  a  nestful  once  of  my  own — 

Ah,  happy,  happy  I ! 

Rightly  dearly  I  loved  them,  but  when  they  were  grown 
They  spread  out  their  wings  to  fly. 

Oh.  one  after  one  they  flew  away, 

Far  up  to  the  heavenly  blue. 


DEATH  AND  IMMORTALITY 


679 


To  the  better  country,  the  upper  day; 

And — I  wish  I  was  going,  too. 

I  pray  you  what  is  the  nest  to  me, 

My  empty  nest? 

And  what  is  the  shore  where  I  used  to  see 
My  boat' sail  down  to  the  west? 

Can  I  call  that  home  where  I  anchor  yet, 
Though  my  good  man  has  sailed? 

Can  I  call  that  home  where  my  nest  was  set, 
Now  all  its  hope  hath  failed? 

Nay,  but  the  port  where  my  sailor  went, 

And  the  land  where  my  nestlings  be : 

There  is  the  home  where  my  thoughts  are  sent, 
The  only  home  for  me — 

Ah,  me ! 


HE  DID  NOT  KNOW  * 

Harry  Kemp 

He  did  not  know  that  he  was  dead; 

He  walked  along  the  crowded  street, 
Smiled,  tipped  his  hat,  nodded  his  head 
To  friends  he  chanced  to  meet. 

And  yet  they  passed  him  quietly  by 
With  an  unknowing,  level  stare; 

They  met  him  with  an  abstract  eye 
As  if  he  were  the  air. 

“Some  sorry  thing  has  come  to  pass,” 

The  dead  man  thought;  he  hurried  home, 
And  found  his  wife  before  a  glass, 

Dallying  with  a  comb. 

He  found  his  wife  all  dressed  in  black; 

He  kissed  her  mouth,  he  stroked  her  head. 
“Men  act  so  strange  since  I've  come  back 
From  over  there,”  he  said. 


68o  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


She  spoke  no  word;  she  only  smiled. 

But  now  he  heard  her  say  his  name, 

And  saw  her  study,  grief-beguiled, 

His  picture  in  a  frame. 

Then  he  remembered  that  black  night 
And  the  great  shell-burst,  wide  and  red, 
The  sudden  plunging  into  light; 

And  knew  that  he  was  dead. 


LYCIDAS 
John  Milton 

Yet  once  more,  O  ye  laurels,  and  once  more, 

Ye  myrtles  brown,  with  ivy  never  sere, 

I  come  to  pluck  your  berries  harsh  and  crude, 
And  with  forced  fingers  rude 
Shatter  your  leaves  before  the  mellowing  year. 
Bitter  constraint  and  sad  occasion  dear 
Compels  me  to  disturb  your  season  due; 

For  Lycidas  is  dead,  dead  ere  his  prime, 

Young  Lycidas,  and  hath  not  left  his  peer. 

Who  would  not  sing  for  Lycidas?  he  knew 
Himself  to  sing  and  build  the  lofty  rhyme. 

He  must  not  float  upon  his  watery  bier 
Unwept,  and  welter  to  the  parching  wind, 
Without  the  meed  of  some  melodious  tear. 

Begin  then,  Sisters  of  the  sacred  well 
That  from  the  seat  of  Jove  doth  spring; 

Begin,  and  somewhat  loudly  sweep  the  string. 
Hence  with  denial  vain  and  coy  excuse ; 

So  may  some  gentle  Muse 

With  lucky  words  favor  my  destined  urn, 

And  as  he  passes  turn, 

And  bid  fair  peace  be  to  my  sable  shroud. 

For  we  were  nursed  upon  the  self-same  hill, 

Fed  the  same  flock,  by  fountain,  shade,  and  rill; 
Together  both,  ere  the  high  lawns  appeared 


DEATH  AND  IMMORTALITY 


Under  the  opening  eyelids  of  the  morn, 

We  drove  a-field  and  both  together  heard 
What  time  the  gray-fly  winds  her  sultry  horn, 

Battening  our  flocks  with  the  fresh  dews  of  night, 

Oft  till  the  star  that  rose  at  evening,  bright 

Toward  heaven’s  descent  had  sloped  his  westering  wheeL 

Meanwhile  the  rural  ditties  were  not  mute, 

Tempered  to  the  oaten  flute; 

Rough  Satyrs  danced,  and  Fauns  with  cloven  heel 
From  the  glad  sound  would  not  be  absent  long; 

And  old  Damoetas  loved  to  hear  our  song. 

But  oh !  the  heavy  change,  now  thou  art  gone, 

Now  thou  art  gone,  and  never  must  return! 

Thee,  Shepherd,  thee  the  woods  and  desert  caves, 

With  wild  thyme  and  the  gadding  vine  o’ergrown, 

And  all  their  echoes  mourn. 

The  willows  and  the  hazel  copses  green 
Shall  now  no  more  be  seen, 

Fanning  their  joyous  leaves  to  thy  soft  lays. 

As  killing  as  the  canker  to  the  rose, 

Or  taint-worm  to  the  weanling  herds  that  graze, 

Or  frost  to  flowers,  that  their  gay  wardrobe  wear, 

When  first  the  white-thorn  blows; 

Such,  Lycidas,  thy  loss  to  shepherd’s  ear. 

Where  were  ye,  nymphs,  when  the  remorseless  deep 
Cdosed  o’er  the  head  of  your  loved  Lycidas? 

For  neither  were  ye  playing  on  the  steep 
Where  your  old  bards,  the  famous  Druids,  lie, 

Nor  on  the  shaggy  top  of  Mona  high, 

Nor  yet  where  Deva  spreads  her  wisard  stream. 

Ay,  me !  I  fondly  dream 

“Had  ye  been  there,”  .  .  .  for  what  could  that  have  done 
What  could  the  Muse  herself  that  Orpheus  bore, 

The  Muse  herself,  for  her  enchanting  son, 

Whom  universal  nature  did  lament, 

When  by  the  rout  that  made  the  hideous  roar 
His  gory  visage  down  the  stream  was  sent, 

Down  the  swift  Hebrus  to  the  Lesbian  shore? 

Alas !  what  boots  it  with  incessant  care 
To  tend  the  homely,  slighted,  shepherd’s  trade, 


682  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


And  strictly  meditate  the  thankless  Muse? 

Were  it  not  better  done,  as  others  use, 

To  sport  with  Amaryllis  in  the  shade, 

Or  with  the  tangles  of  Nesera’s  hair? 

Fame  is  the  spur  that  the  clear  spirit  doth  raise 
(That  last  infirmity  of  noble  mind) 

To  scorn  delights  and  live  laborious  days; 

But  the  fair  guerdon  when  we  hope  to  find, 

And  think  to  burst  out  into  sudden  blaze, 

Comes  the  blind  Fury  with  the  abhorred  shears, 
And  slits  the  thin-spun  life.  “But  not  the  praise,” 
Phoebus  replied,  and  touched  my  trembling  ears : 
“Fame  is  no  plant  that  grows  on  mortal  soil, 

Nor  in  the  glistering  foil 

Set  off  to  the  world,  nor  in  broad  rumor  lies ; 

But  lives  and  spreads  aloft  by  those  pure  eyes 
And  perfect  witness  of  all-judging  Jove; 

As  he  pronounces  lastly  on  each  deed, 

Of  so  much  fame  in  heaven  expect  thy  meed.” 

O  fountain  Arethuse,  and  thou  honored  flood, 
Smooth-sliding  Mincius,  crowned  with  vocal  reeds, 
That  strain  I  heard  was  of  a  higher  mood : 

But  now  my  oat  proceeds, 

And  listens  to  the  herald  of  the  sea, 

That  came  in  Neptune’s  plea. 

He  asked  the  waves,  and  asked  the  felon  winds, 
What  hard  mishap  hath  doomed  this  gentle  swain? 
And  questioned  every  gust  of  rugged  wings 
That  blows  from  off  each  beaked  promontory. 

They  knew  not  of  his  story; 

And  sage  Hippotades  their  answer  brings, 

That  not  a  blast  was  from  his  dungeon  strayed; 
The  air  was  calm,  and  on  the  level  brine 
Sleek  Panope  with  all  her  sisters  played. 

It  was  that  fatal  and  perfidious  bark, 

Built  in  the  eclipse,  and  rigged  with  curses  dark, 
That  sunk  so  low  that  sacred  head  of  thine. 

Next  Camus,  reverend  sire,  went  footing  slow, 
His  mantle  hairy  and  his  bonnet  sedge, 

Inwrought  with  figureskdim,  and  on  the  edge 


DEATH  AND  IMMORTALITY 


683 


Like  to  that  sanguine  flower  inscribed  with  woe. 

“Ah,  who  hath  reft,”  quoth  he,  “my  dearest  pledge  ?” 
Last  came,  and  last  did  go, 

The  pilot  of  the  Galilean  lake ; 

Two  massy  keys  he  bore  of  metals  twain 
(The  golden  opes,  the  iron  shuts  amain). 

He  shook  his  mitred  locks,  and  stern  bespake : 

“How  well  could  I  have  spared  for  thee,  young  swain, 
Anow  of  such  as,  for  their  bellies’  sake, 

Creep  and  intrude  and  climb  into  the  fold ! 

Of  other  care  they  little  reckoning  make 
Than  how  to  scramble  at  the  shearers’  feast, 

And  shove  away  the  worthy  bidden  guest. 

Blind  mouths !  that  scarce  themselves  know  how  to  hold 
A  sheep-hook,  or  have  learnt  aught  else  the  least 
That  to  the  faithful  herdsman’s  art  belongs ! 

What  recks  it  them?  What  need  they?  They  are  sped; 
And  when  they  list,  their  lean  and  flashy  songs 
Grate  on  their  scrannel  pipes  of  wretched  straw; 

The  hungry  sheep  look  up  and  are  not  fed, 

But  swoln  with  wind  and  the  rank  mist  they  draw, 

Rot  inwardly  and  foul  contagion  spread; 

Besides  what  the  grim  wolf  with  privy  paw 
Daily  devours  apace,  and  nothing  said. 

But  that  two-handed  engine  at  the  door 
Stands  ready  to  smite  once  and  smite  no  more.” 

Return,  Alpheus;  the  dread  voice  is  past 
That  shrunk  thy  streams;  return,  Sicilian  Muse, 

And  call  the  vales,  and  bid  them  hither  cast 
Their  bells  and  flowerets  of  a  thousand  hues. 

Ye  valleys  low,  where  the  mild  whispers  use 
Of  shades  and  wanton  winds  and  gushing  brooks, 

On  whose  fresh  lap  the  swart  star  sparely  looks, 

Throw  hither  all  your  quaint  enamelled  eyes, 

That  on  the  green  turf  suck  the  honeyed  showers, 

And  purple  all  the  ground  with  vernal  flowers. 

Bring  the  rathe  primrose  that  forsaken  dies, 

The  tufted  crow-toe,  and  pale  jessamine, 

The  white  pink,  and  the  pansy  freaked  with  jet, 

The  glowing  violet, 


684  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

The  musk-rose  and  the  well-attired  woodbine, 

With  cowslips  wan  that  hang  the  pensive  head, 

And  every  flower  that  sad  embroidery  wears; 

Bid  amaranthus  all  his  beauty  shed, 

And  dafifadillies  fill  their  cups  with  tears, 

To  strew  the  laureate  hearse  where  Lycid  lies. 

For  so  to  interpose  a  little  ease, 

Let  our  frail  thoughts  dally  with  false  surmise. 

Ay  me !  whilst  thee  the  shores  and  sounding  seas 
Wash  far  away,  where’er  thy  bones  are  hurled; 
Whether  beyond  the  stormy  Hebrides, 

Where  thou  perhaps  under  the  whelming  tide 
Visit’st  the  bottom  of  the  monstrous  world ; 

Or  whether  thou,  to  our  moist  vows  denied, 

Sleep’st  by  the  fable  of  Bellerus  old, 

Where  the  great  vision  of  the  guarded  mount 
Looks  toward  Namancos  and  Bayona’s  hold. 

Look  homeward,  Angel,  now  and  melt  with  ruth ; 

And,  O  ye  dolphins,  waft  the  hapless  youth. 

Weep  no  more,  woeful  shepherds,  weep  no  more, 

For  Lycidas,  your  sorrow,  is  not  dead, 

Sunk  though  he  be  beneath  the  watery  floor ; 

So  sinks  the  day-star  in  the  ocean  bed, 

And  yet  anon  repairs  his  drooping  head, 

And  tricks  his  beams,  and  with  new-spangled  ore 
Flames  in  the  forehead  of  the  morning  sky : 

So  Lycidas  sunk  low,  but  mounted  high, 

Through  the  dear  might  of  Him  that  walked  the  waves, 
Where,  other  groves  and  other  streams  along, 

With  nectar  pure  his  oozy  locks  he  laves, 

And  hears  the  unexpressive  nuptial  song, 

In  the  blest  kingdoms  meek  of  joy  and  love. 

There  entertain  him  all  the  saints  above, 

In  solemn  troops  and  sweet  societies, 

That  sing,  and  singing  in  their  glory  move, 

And  wipe  the  tears  forever  from  his  eyes. 

Now,  Lycidas,  the  shepherds  weep  no  more; 
Henceforth  thou  art  the  Genius  of  the  shore. 

In  thy  large  recompense,  and  shalt  be  good 
To  all  that  wander  in  that  perilous  flood. 


DEATH  AND  IMMORTALITY 


685 


Thus  sang  the  uncouth  swain  to  the  oaks  and  rills, 
While  the  still  morn  went  out  with  sandals  gray; 

He  touched  the  tender  stops  of  various  quills, 

With  eager  thought  warbling  his  Doric  lay: 

And  now  the  sun  had  stretched  out  all  the  hills, 

And  now  was  dropt  into  the  western  bay. 

At  last  he  rose,  and  twitched  his  mantle  blue : 
To-morrow  to  fresh  woods  and  pastures  new. 


VESPERS 

Silas  Weir  Mitchell 

I  know  the  night  is  near  at  hand : 

The  mists  lie  low  on  hill  and  bay, 

The  Autumn  sheaves  are  dewless,  dry; 
But  I  have  had  the  day. 

Yes,  I  have  had,  dear  Lord,  the  day; 
When  at  thy  call  I  have  the  night. 
Brief  be  the  twilight  as  I  pass 
From  light  to  dark,  from  dark  to  light. 


DEATPI 

James  Oppenheim 

This  starry  world,  and  I  in  it  .  .  . 

How  can  I  get  out  of  it? 

I  go  to  sleep  but  when  I  wake  I  am  still  here  .  .  . 

All  night  the  flame  of  life  burned  in  my  breast  and  brain  as 
the  stars  burn  in  the  breast  and  brain  of  the  world  .  .  . 

And  what  is  Death? 

It  is  a  swing-door.  I  push  through,  coming  out  on  the  other 
side. 


686  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


But  the  other  side  is  the  world,  just  as  this  side  is  th<» 
world  .  .  . 

There  is  no  escape  .  .  . 

So  I  had  best  do  my  work  now,  lest  I  shall  have  to  do  it  later 

I  had  best  be  myself  now,  lest  later  I  shall  have  to  battle  with 
the  crusts  upon  myself, 

Lest  later  I  shall  have  to  begin  again  at  the  beginning,  unlearn¬ 
ing  all  my  faults.  .  .  . 

This  was  as  true  a  hundred  million  years  ago, 

This  wflll  be  as  true  a  hundred  million  years  from  now, 

As  it  is  now,  at  this  moment. 


FOREVER 

John  Boyle  O’Reilly 

Those  we  love  truly  never  die, 

Though  year  by  year  the  sad  memorial  wreath, 
A  ring  and  flowers,  types  of  life  and  death, 

Are  laid  upon  their  graves. 

For  death  the  pure  life  saves, 

And  life  all  pure  is  love;  and  love  can  reach 
From  heaven  to  earth,  and  nobler  lessons  teach 
Than  those  by  mortals  read. 

Well  blest  is  he  who  has  a  dear  one  dead; 

A  friend  he  has  whose  face  will  never  change — 

A  dear  communion  that  will  not  grow  strange; 
The  anchor  of  a  love  is  death. 


SEEDS 

John  Oxenham 

What  shall  we  be  like  when 
We  cast  this  earthly  body  and  attain 
To  Immortality  ? 

What  shall  we  be  like  then? 


DEATH  AND  IMMORTALITY 


687 


Ah,  who  shall  say 

What  vast  expansions  shall  be  ours  that  day? 

What  transformations  of  this  house  of  clay, 

To  fit  the  heavenly  mansions  and  the  light  of  day? 
Ah,  who  shall  say? 

But  this  we  know, — 

We  drop  a  seed  into  the  ground, 

A  tiny,  shapeless  thing,  shrivelled  and  dry, 

And,  in  the  fulness  of  its  time,  is  seen 
A  form  of  peerless  beauty,  robed  and  crowned 
Beyond  the  pride  of  any  earthly  queen, 

Instinct  with  loveliness,  and  sweet  and  rare 
The  perfect  emblem  of  its  Maker’s  care. 

This  from  a  shrivelled  seed? — 

— Then  may  man  hope  indeed ! 

For  man  is  but  the  seed  of  what  he  shall  be, 

When,  in  the  fulness  of  his  perfecting, 

He  drops  the  husk  and  cleaves  his  upward  way, 
Through  earth’s  retardings  and  the  clinging  clay 
Into  the  sunshine  of  God’s  perfect  day. 

No  fetters  then !  No  bonds  of  time  or  space  ! 

But  powers  as  ample  as  the  boundless  grace 
That  suffered  man,  and  death,  and  yet,  in  tenderness, 
Set  wide  the  door  and  passed  Himself  before — 

As  He  had  promised — to  prepare  a  place. 

Yea,  we  may  hope ! 

For  we  are  seeds, 

Dropped  into  earth  for  heavenly  blossoming. 
Perchance,  when  comes  the  time  of  harvesting, 

His  loving  care 

May  find  some  use  for  even  a  humble  tare. 

We  know  not  what  we  shall  be — only  this — 

That  we  shall  be  made  like  Him — as  He  is. 


688  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


THE  CONCLUSION 
Sir  Walter  Raleigh 

(Found  in  his  Bible  in  the  Gatehouse  at  Westminster) 

Even  such  is  time,  that  takes  in  trust 
Our  youth,  our  joys,  are  all  we  have, 

And  pays  us  but  with  earth  and  dust; 

Who,  in  the  dark  and  silent  grave, 

When  we  have  wandered  all  our  ways, 

Shuts  up  the  story  of  our  days ; 

But  from  this  earth,  this  grave,  this  dust, 

My  God  shall  raise  me  up,  I  trust. 


AWAY! 

James  Whitcomb  Riley 

I  cannot  say,  and  I  will  not  say 
That  he  is  dead  !  He  is  just  away  ! 

With  a  cheery  smile,  and  a  wave  of  the  hand, 
He  has  wandered  into  an  unknown  land. 

And  left  us  dreaming  how  very  fair 
It  must  be,  since  he  lingers  there. 

And  you, — O  you,  who  the  wildest  yearn 
For  the  old-time  step  and  the  glad  return, — 

Think  of  him  faring  on,  as  dear 

In  the  love  of  There  as  the  love  of  Here ; 

Mild  and  gentle  as  he  was  brave, — 

When  the  sweetest  love  of  his  life  he  gave 

To  simple  things: — where  the  violets  grew 
Pure  as  the  eyes  they  were  likened  to, 


DEATH  AND  IMMORTALITY 


689 


The  touches  of  his  hands  have  strayed 
As  reverently  as  his  lips  have  prayed. 

Think  of  him  still  as  the  same,  I  say; 
He  is  not  dead — he  is  just  away! 


IMMORTALITY 

George  William  Russell  (A.  E.) 

We  must  pass  like  smoke  or  live  within  the  spirit’s  fire; 
For  we  can  do  no  more  than  smoke  unto  the  flame  return; 

If  our  thought  has  changed  to  dream,  our  will  unto  desire, 
As  smoke  we  vanish  though  the  fire  may  burn. 

Lights  of  infinite  pity  star  the  grey  dusk  of  our  days : 
Surely  here  is  soul :  with  it  we  have  eternal  breath : 

In  the  fire  of  love  we  live,  or  pass  by  many  ways, 

By  unnumbered  ways  of  dream,  to  death. 


MY  BIRTH 
Minot  J.  Savage 

I  had  my  birth  when  the  stars  were  born, 
In  the  dim  aeons  of  the  past : 

My  cradle  cosmic  forces  rocked, 

And  to  my  first  was  linked  my  last. 

Through  boundless  space  the  shuttle  flew, 
To  weave  the  warp  and  woof  of  fate: 

In  my  begetting  were  conjoined 
The  infinitely  small  and  great. 

The  outmost  star  on  being’s  rim, 

The  tiniest  sand-grain  of  the  earth, 

The  farthest  thrill  and  nearest  stir 
Was  not  indifferent  to  my  birth. 


690  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

And  when  at  last  the  earth  swung  free, 

A  little  planet  by  the  moon, 

For  me  the  continent  arose, 

For  me  the  ocean  roared  its  tune; 

For  me  the  forests  grew;  for  me 
The  electric  force  ran  to  and  fro; 

For  me  tribes  wandered  o’er  the  earth, 

Kingdoms  rose,  and  cities  grew. 

For  me  religions  waxed  and  waned; 

For  me  the  ages  garnered  store; 

For  me  ships  traversed  every  sea; 

For  me  the  wise  ones  learned  their  lore; 

For  me,  through  fire  and  blood  and  tears, 

Man  struggled  onward  up  the  height, 

On  which,  at  last,  from  heaven  falls 
An  ever  clearer,  broader  light. 

The  child  of  all  the  ages,  I, 

Nursed  on  the  exhaustless  breast  of  time; 

By  heroes  thrilled,  by  sages  taught, 

Sung  to  by  bards  of  every  clime. 

Quintessence  of  the  universe, 

Distilled  at  last  from  God’s  own  heart, 

In  me  concentered  now  abides 
Of  all  that  is  the  subtlest  part. 

The  product  of  the  ages  past, 

Heir  of  the  future,  then,  am  I ; 

So  much  am  I  divine  that  God 
Cannot  afford  to  let  me  die. 

If  I  should  ever  cease  to  be, 

The  farthest  star  its  mate  would  miss, 

And,  looking  after  me,  would  fall 
Down  headlong  darkening  to  the  abyss. 


DEATH  AND  IMMORTALITY 


For,  if  aught  real  that  is  should  cease, 
If  the  All-Father  ever  nods, 

That  day  across  the  heavens  would  fall 
Ragnorok,  twilight  of  the  Gods. 


From  ADONAIS 

Percy  Bysshe  Shelley 

He  is  made  one  with  Nature:  there  is  heard 
His  voice  in  all  her  music,  from  the  moan 
Of  thunder,  to  the  song  of  night’s  sweet  bird; 

He  is  a  presence  to  be  felt  and  known 
In  darkness  and  in  light,  from  herb  and  stone, 
Spreading  itself  where’er  that  Power  may  move 
Which  has  withdrawn  His  being  to  its  own; 

Which  wields  the  world  with  never-wearied  love, 
Sustains  it  from  beneath,  and  kindles  it  above. 

He  is  a  portion  of  the  loveliness 

Which  once  he  made  more  lovely :  he  doth  bear 

His  part,  while  the  one  Spirit’s  plastic  stress 

Sweeps  through  the  dull  dense  world,  compelling  there 

All  new  successions  to  the  forms  they  wear ; 

Torturing  the  unwilling  dross  that  checks  its  flight 
To  its  own  likeness,  as  each  mass  may  bear; 

And  bursting  in  its  beauty  and  its  might, 

From  trees  and  beasts  and  men  into  the  Heaven’s  light. 

The  splendors  of  the  firmament  of  time 
May  be  eclipsed  but  are  extinguished  not  ; 

Like  stars  to  their  appointed  height  they  climb, 

And  death  is  a  low  mist  which  cannot  blot 
The  brightness  it  may  veil.  When  lofty  thought 
Lifts  a  young  heart  above  its  mortal  lair, 

And  love  and  life  contend  for  it,  for  what 
Shall  be  its  earthly  doom,  the  dead  live  there 
And  move  like  winds  of  light  on  dark  and  stormy  air. 


692  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


The  One  remains,  the  many  change  and  pass ; 
Heaven's  light  forever  shines,  Earth’s  shadows  fly ; 
Life,  like  a  dome  of  many-colored  glass, 

Stains  the  white  radiance  of  Eternity, 

Until  Death  tramples  it  to  fragments. — Die, 

If  thou  wouldst  be  with  that  which  thou  dost  seek  1 
Follow  where  all  is  fled! — Rome’s  azure  sky, 
Flowers,  ruins,  statues,  music,  words,  are  weak 
The  glory  they  transfuse  with  fitting  truth  to  speak. 


That  Light  whose  smile  kindles  the  Universe, 

That  Beauty  in  which  all  things  work  and  move. 
That  Benediction  which  the  eclipsing  Curse 
Of  birth  can  quench  not,  that  sustaining  Love 
Which  through  the  web  of  being  blindly  wove 
By  man  and  beast  and  earth  and  air  and  sea, 

Burns  bright  or  dim,  as  each  are  mirrors  of 
The  fire  for  which  all  thirst;  now  beams  on  me, 
Consuming  the  last  clouds  of  cold  mortality. 

The  breath  whose  might  I  have  invoked  in  song 
Descends  on  me;  my  spirit’s  bark  is  driven, 

Far  from  the  shore,  far  from  the  trembling  throng 
Whose  sails  were  never  to  the  tempest  given; 

The  massy  earth  and  sphered  skies  are  riven ! 

I  am  borne  darkly,  fearfully,  afar ; 

Whilst,  burning  through  the  inmost  veil  of  Heaven, 
The  soul  of  Adonais,  like  a  star, 

Beacons  from  the  abode  where  the  Eternal  are. 


IMMORTAL 
Sara  Teasdale 

So  soon  my  body  will  have  gone 
Beyond  the  sight  and  sound  of  men. 
And  tho’  it  wakes  and  suffers  now 
Its  sleep  will  be  unbroken  then; 


DEATH  AND  IMMORTALITY 


593 


But,  oh,  my  frail  immortal  soul 
That  will  not  sleep  forevermore, 

A  leaf  borne  onward  by  the  blast, 

A  wave  that  never  finds  the  shore ! 


CROSSING  THE  BAR 
Alfred  Tennyson 

Sunset  and  evening  star, 

And  one  clear  call  for  me ! 

And  may  there  be  no  moaning  of  the  bar, 

When  I  put  out  to  sea, 

But  such  a  tide  as  moving  seems  asleep, 

Too  full  for  sound  and  foam, 

When  that  which  drew  from  out  the  boundless  deep 
Turns  again  home. 

Twilight  and  evening  bell, 

And  after  that,  the  dark ! 

And  may  there  be  no  sadness  of  farewell, 

When  I  embark; 

For  tho’  from  out  our  bourne  of  Time  and  Place 
The  flood  may  bear  me  far, 

I  hope  to  see  my  Pilot  face  to  face 
When  I  have  crossed  the  bar. 


OF  ONE  SELF-SLAIN 

Charles  Hanson  Towne 

When  he  went  blundering  back  to  God, 

His  songs  half  written,  his  work  half  done, 
Who  knows  what  paths  his  bruised  feet  trod, 
What  hills  of  peace  or  pain  he  won? 


694  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

I  hope  God  smiled  and  took  his  hand, 

And  said,  “Poor  truant,  passionate  fool ! 

Life’s  book  is  hard  to  understand; 

Why  could’st  thou  not  remain  at  school  ?” 


TO  NIGHT 

Joseph  Blanco  White 

Mysterious  night !  When  our  first  parent  knew 
Thee  from  report  divine,  and  heard  thy  name, 

Did  he  not  tremble  for  this  lovely  frame, 

This  glorious  canopy  of  light  and  blue? 

Yet  ’neath  the  curtain  of  translucent  dew, 

Bathed  in  the  rays  of  the  great  setting  flame, 
Hesperus  with  the  host  of  heaven  came, 

And  lo !  Creation  widened  on  man’s  view. 

Who  could  have  thought  such  darkness  lay  concealed 
Within  thy  beams,  O  sun !  or  who  could  find 
While  fly,  and  leaf,  and  insect  stood  revealed, 

That  to  such  countless  orbs  thou  mad’st  us  blind. 
Why  do  we,  then,  shun  Death  with  anxious  strife? — 
If  Light  can  thus  deceive,  wherefore  not  Life? 


AT  LAST 

John  Greenleaf  Whittier 

When  on  my  day  of  life  the  night  is  falling, 

And,  in  the  winds  from  unsunned  spaces  blown, 
I  hear  far  voices  out  of  darkness  calling 
My  feet  to  paths  unknown, 

Thou  who  hast  made  my  home  of  life  so  pleasant, 
Leave  not  its  tenant  when  its  walls  decay ; 

O  Love  Divine,  O  Helper  ever-present, 

Be  Thou  my  strength  and  stay ! 


DEATH  AND  IMMORTALITY 


695 


Be  near  me  when  all  else  is  from  me  drifting; 

Earth,  sky,  home’s  pictures,  days  of  shade  and  shine, 
And  kindly  faces  to  my  own  uplifting 
The  love  which  answers  mine. 

I  have  but  Thee,  my  Father !  let  Thy  spirit 
Be  with  me  then  to  comfort  and  uphold; 

No  gate  of  pearl,  no  branch  of  palm  I  merit, 

Nor  street  of  shining  gold. 

Suffice  it  if — my  good  and  ill  unreckoned, 

And  both  forgiven  through  Thy  abounding  grace — 

I  find  myself  by  hands  familiar  beckoned 
Unto  my  fitting  place. 


b.  IMPERSONAL  IMMORTALITY 


MISSING 

Anonymous 

When  the  anxious  hearts  say  “Where?” 

He  doth  answer  “In  My  care.” 

“Is  it  life  or  is  it  death?” 

“Wait,”  He  whispers.  “Child,  have  faith!” 

“Did  they  need  love’s  tenderness?” 

“Is  there  love  like  Mine  to  bless?” 

“Were  they  frightened  at  the  last?” 

“No,  the  sting  of  death  is  past.” 

“Did  a  thought  of  ‘Home-Love’  rise?” 

“I  looked  down  thro’  Mother-eyes.” 


696  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

“Saviour,  tell  us,  where  are  they?” 

“In  My  keeping,  night  and  day.” 

“Tell  us,  tell  us,  how  it  stands.” 

“None  shall  pluck  them  from  My  Hands.” 


THE  DEAD 
Mathilde  Blind 

The  dead  abide  with  us !  Though  stark  and  cold 
Earth  seems  to  grip  them,  they  are  with  us  still : 
They  have  forged  our  chains  of  being  for  good  or 
And  their  invisible  hands  these  hands  yet  hold. 

Our  perishable  bodies  are  the  mould 

In  which  their  strong  imperishable  will — 
Mortality’s  deep  yearning  to  fulfill — 

Hath  grown  incorporate  through  dim  time  untold. 

Vibrations  infinite  of  life  in  death, 

As  a  star’s  travelling  light  survives  its  star ! 

So  may  we  hold  our  lives  that,  when  we  are 

The  fate  of  those  who  then  will  draw  this  breath, 
They  shall  not  drag  us  to  their  judgment  bar, 

And  curse  the  heritage  that  we  bequeath. 


WHERE  RUNS  THE  RIVER? 

Francis  William  Bourdillon 

Where  runs  the  river?  Who  can  say 
Who  hath  not  followed  all  the  way 
By  alders  green  and  sedges  gray 
And  ‘blossoms  blue  ? 

Where  runs  the  river  ?  Hill  and  wood 
Curve  round  to  hem  the  eager  flood; 

It  cannot  straightly  as  it  would 
Its  path  pursue. 


DEATH  AND  IMMORTALITY 


697 


Yet  this  we  know:  O’er  whatso  plains 
Or  rocks  or  waterfalls  it  strains, 

At  last  the  vast  the  stream  attains ; 
And  I,  and  you. 


LAST  LINES 
Emily  Bronte 
No  coward  soul  is  mine, 

No  trembler  in  the  world’s  storm-troubled  sphere; 

I  see  Heaven’s  glories  shine, 

And  faith  shines  equal,  arming  me  from  fear. 

O  God  within  my  breast, 

Almighty,  ever-present  Deity ! 

Life-— that  in  me  has  rest, 

As  I — undying  life — have  power  in  thee  ! 

Vain  are  the  thousand  creeds 
That  move  men’s  hearts:  unutterably  vain; 

Worthless  as  withered  weeds, 

Or  idlest  froth  amid  the  boundless  main. 

To  waken  doubt  in  one 
Holding  so  fast  by  thine  infinity; 

So  surely  anchored  on 
The  steadfast  rock  of  immortality. 

With  wide-embracing  love 
Thy  Spirit  animates  eternal  years, 

Pervades  and  broods  above, 

Changes,  sustains,  dissolves,  creates  and  rears. 

Though  earth  and  man  were  gone, 

And  suns  and  universes  ceased  to  be, 

And  Thou  were  left  alone, 

Every  existence  would  exist  in  Thee. 


698  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

There  is  not  room  for  Death 
Nor  atom  that  his  might  could  render  void: 

Thou — Thou  art  Being  and  Breath, 

And  what  Thou  art  may  never  be  destroyed. 


THE  DEAD 
Rupert  Brooke 

Blow  out,  you  bugles,  over  the  rich  Dead ! 

There’s  none  of  these  so  lonely  and  poor  and  old 
But,  dying,  has  made  us  rarer  gifts  than  gold. 

These  laid  the  world  away;  poured  out  the  red 
Sweet  wine  of  youth ;  gave  up  the  years  to  be 
Of  work  and  joy,  and  that  unhoped  serene 
That  men  call  age;  and  those  who  would  have  been, 
Their  sons,  they  gave,  their  immortality. 

Blow,  bugles,  blow !  They  brought  us  for  our  dearth, 
Holiness  lacked  so  long,  and  Love  and  Pain. 

Honor  has  come  back,  as  a  king,  to  earth, 

And  paid  his  subjects  with  a  royal  wage; 

And  Nobleness  walks  in  our  ways  again; 

And  we  have  come  into  our  heritage. 


PEACE 
Rupert  Brooke 

Now,  God  be  thanked  who  has  matched  us  with  His  hour, 

And  caught  our  youth,  and  wakened  us  from  sleeping, 

With  hand  made  sure,  clear  eye  and  sharpened  power, 

To  turn,  as  swimmers  into  cleanness  leaping, 

Glad  from  a  world  grown  old  and  cold  and  weary, 

Leave  the  sick  hearts  that  honor  could  not  move, 

And  half-men  and  their  dirty  songs  and  dreary. 

And  all  the  little  emptiness  of  love ! 

Oh  !  We  who  have  known  shame,  we  have  found  release  there 


DEATH  AND  IMMORTALITY 


699 


Where  there’s  no  ill,  no  grief,  but  sleep  has  mending, 
Naught  broken  save  this  body,  lost  but  breath; 
Nothing  to  shake  the  laughing  heart’s  long  peace  there 
But  only  agony,  and  that  has  ending; 

And  the  worst  friend  and  enemy  is  but  Death. 


THANATOPSIS 

William  Cullen  Bryant 

To  him  who  in  the  love  of  Nature  holds 

Communion  with  her  visible  forms,  she  speaks 

A  various  language ;  for  his  gayer  hours 

She  has  a  voice  of  gladness,  and  a  smile 

And  eloquence  of  beauty,  and  she  glides 

Into  his  darker  musings,  with  a  mild 

And  healing  sympathy,  that  steals  away 

Their  sharpness,  ere  he  is  aware.  When  thoughts 

Of  the  last  bitter  hour  come  like  a  blight 

Over  thy  spirit,  and  sad  images 

Of  the  stern  agony,  and  shroud,  and  pall, 

And  breathless  darkness,  and  the  narrow  house, 
Make  thee  to  shudder  and  grow  sick  at  heart; — 
Go  forth,  under  the  open  sky,  and  list 
To  Nature’s  teachings,  while  from  all  around — • 
Earth  and  her  waters,  and  the  depths  of  air — 
Comes  a  still  voice : — 


Yet  a  few  days,  and  thee 
The  all-beholding  sun  shall  see  no  more 
In  all  his  course ;  nor  yet  in  the  cold  ground, 

Where  thy  pale  form  was  laid  with  many  tears, 

Nor  in  the  embrace  of  ocean,  shall  exist 

Thy  image.  Earth,  that  nourished  thee,  shall  claim 

Thy  growth,  to  be  resolved  to  earth  again, 

And,  lost  each  human  trace,  surrendering  up 
Thine  individual  being,  shalt  thou  go 
To  mix  forever  with  the  elements, 

To  be  a  brother  to  the  insensible  rock 


700 


THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

And  to  the  sluggish  clod,  which  the  rude  swain 
Turns  with  his  share,  and  treads  upon.  The  oak 
Shall  send  his  roots  abroad,  and  pierce  thy  mould. 

Yet  not  to  thine  eternal  resting-place 
Shalt  thou  retire  alone,  nor  couldst  thou  wish 
Couch  more  magnificent.  Thou  shalt  lie  down 
With  patriarchs  of  the  infant  world — with  kings, 

The  powerful  of  the  earth — the  wise,  the  good, 

Fair  forms,  and  hoary  seers  of  ages  past, 

All  in  one  mighty  sepulchre.  The  hills 
Rock-ribbed  and  ancient  as  the  sun, — the  vales 
Stretching  in  pensive  quietness  between; 

The  venerable  woods — rivers  that  move 

In  majesty,  and  the  complaining  brooks 

That  make  the  meadows  green;  and,  poured  round  all. 

Old  Ocean’s  gray  and  melancholy  waste, — - 

Are  but  the  solemn  decorations  all 

Of  the  great  tomb  of  man.  The  golden  sun, 

The  planets,  all  the  infinite  host  of  heaven, 

Are  shining  on  the  sad  abodes  of  death 
Through  the  still  lapse  of  ages.  All  that  tread 
The  globe  are  but  a  handful  to  the  tribes 
That  slumber  in  its  bosom. — Take  the  wings 
Of  morning,  pierce  the  Barcan  wilderness, 

Or  lose  thyself  in  the  continuous  woods 
Where  rolls  the  Oregon,  and  hears  no  sound, 

Save  his  own  dashings — yet  the  dead  are  there ; 

And  millions  in  those  solitudes,  since  first 
The  flight  of  years  began,  have  laid  them  down 
In  their  last  sleep — the  dead  reign  there  alone. 

So  shalt  thou  rest,  and  what  if  thou  withdraw 
In  silence  from  the  living,  and  no  friend 
Take  note  of  thy  departure?  All  that  breathe 
Will  share  thy  destiny.  The  gay  will  laugh 
When  thou  art  gone,  the  solemn  brood  of  care 
Plod  on,  and  each  one  as  before  will  chase 
His  favourite  phantom;  yet  all  these  shall  leave 
Their  mirth  and  their  employments,  and  shall  come 
And  make  their  bed  with  thee.  As  the  long  train 


DEATH  ANT)  IMMORTALITY 


701 


Of  ages  glides  away,  the  sons  of  men — 

The  youth  in  life’s  fresh  spring,  and  he  who  goes 
In  the  full  strength  of  years,  matron  and  maid, 

The  speechless  babe,  and  the  gray-headed  man — 
Shall  one  by  one  be  gathered  to  thy  side, 

By  those,  who  in  their  turn  shall  follow  them. 

So  live,  that  when  thy  summons  comes  to  join 
The  innumerable  caravan,  which  moves 
To  that  mysterious  realm,  where  each  shall  take 
His  chamber  in  the  silent  halls  of  death, 

Thou  go  not,  like  the  quarry-slave  at  night, 

Scourged  to  his  dungeon,  but,  sustained  and  soothed 
By  an  unfaltering  trust,  approach  thy  grave 
Like  one  who  wraps  the  drapery  of  his  couch 
About  him,  and  lies  down  to  pleasant  dreams. 


THE  IMMORTAL  MIND 
Lord  Byron 

When  coldness  wraps*this  suffering  clay, 
Ah,  whither  strays  the  immortal  mind? 

It  cannot  die,  it  cannot  stay, 

But  leaves  its  darkened  dust  behind. 

Then  unembodied,  doth  it  trace 

By  steps  each  planet’s  heavenly  way  ? 

Or  fill  at  once  the  realms  of  space 
A  thing  of  eyes,  that  all  survey? 

Eternal,  boundless,  undecayed, 

A  thought  unseen,  but  seeing  all, 

All,  all,  in  earth  or  skies  displayed, 

Shall  it  survey,  shall  it  recall : 

Each  fainter  trace  that  memory  holds 
So  darkly  of  departed  years, 

In  one  broad  glance  the  soul  beholds, 

And  all  that  was,  at  once  appears. 


702  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

Before  creation  peopled  earth 

Its  eyes  shall  roll  through  chaos  back ; 

And  where  the  furthest  heaven  had  birth, 

The  spirit  trace  its  rising  track. 

And  where  the  future  mars  or  makes, 

Its  glance  dilate  o’er  all  to  be, 

While  sun  is  quenched  or  system  breaks, 

Fixed  in  its  own  eternity. 

Above  or  love,  hope,  hate  or  fear, 

It  lives  all  passionless  and  pure : 

An  age  shall  fleet  like  earthly  year; 

Its  years  as  moments  shall  endure. 

Away,  away,  without  a  wing, 

O’er  all,  through  all,  its  thought  shall  fly; 

A  nameless  and  eternal  thing 
Forgetting  what  it  was  to  die. 

SAY  NOT  THE  STRUGGLE  NAUGHT  AVAILETH 

% 

Arthur  Hugh  Clough 

Say  not  the  struggle  naught  availeth, 

The  labor  and  the  wounds  are  vain, 

The  enemy  faints  not,  nor  faileth, 

And  as  things  have  been  they  remain. 

If  hopes  were  dupes,  fears  may  be  liars; 

It  may  be,  in  yon  smoke  concealed. 

Your  comrades  chase  e’en  now  the  fliers, 

And,  but  for  you,  possess  the  field. 

For  while  the  tired  waves,  vainly  breaking, 

Seem  here  no  painful  inch  to  gain, 

Far  back,  through  creeks  and  inlets  making, 

Comes  silent,  flooding  in,  the  main. 

And  not  by  eastern  windows  only, 

When  daylight  comes,  comes  in  the  light; 


DEATH  AND  IMMORTALITY 


In  front,  the  sun  climbs  slow,  how  slowly. 
But  westward,  look,  the  land  is  bright ! 


NOW  AND  AFTERWARDS 

Dinah  Muloch  Craik 

Two  hands  upon  the  breast, 

And  labor's  done ; 

Two  pale  feet  crossed  in  rest, — 

The  race  is  won; 

Two  eyes  with  coin-weights  shut, 

And  all  tears  cease; 

Two  lips  where  grief  is  mute, 

Anger  at  peace” : 

So  pray  we  oftentimes,  mourning  our  lot; 

God  in  his  kindness  answereth  not. 

Two  hands  to  work  addressed 
Aye  for  his  praise ; 

Two  feet  that  never  rest, 

Walking  his  ways; 

Two  eyes  that  look  above 
Through  all  their  tears; 

Two  lips  still  breathing  love, 

Not  wrath,  nor  fears” : 

So  pray  we  afterwards,  low  on  our  knees; 

Pardon  those  erring  prayers  !  Father,  hear  these  ! 

IMMORTALITY 
Richard  Henry  Dana 
Oh  !  Listen,  man  ! 

A  voice  within  us  speaks  that  word,  startling; 
“Man,  thou  shalt  never  die !”  Celestial  voices 
Hymn  it  unto  our  souls ;  according  harps, 

By  angel  fingers  touched,  when  the  mild  stars 


704  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

Of  morning  sang  together,  still  sound  forth 
The  song  of  our  great  immortality. 

Thick  clustering  orbs,  and  this  our  fair  domain, 

The  tall,  dark  mountains,  and  the  deep-toned  seas 
Join  in  this  solemn,  universal  song. 

Oh,  listen,  ye,  our  spirits ;  drink  it  in 

From  all  the  air.  ’Tis  in  the  gentle  moonlight; 

’Tis  floating  in  day’s  setting  glories;  night 
Wrapped  in  her  sable  robe,  with  silent  step 
Comes  to  our  bed  and  breathes  it  in  our  ears : 

Night,  and  the  dawn,  bright  day,  and  thoughtful  eve, 
All  times,  all  bounds,  the  limitless  expanse, 

As  one  vast  mystic  instrument,  are  touched 
By  an  unseen  living  Hand,  and  conscious  chords 
Quiver  with  joy  in  this  great  jubilee. 

The  dying  hear  it;  and,  as  sounds  of  earth 
Grow  dull  and  distant,  wake  their  passing  souls 
To  mingle  in  this  heavenly  harmony. 


MY  HEREAFTER 

Juanita  de  Long 

Do  not  come  when  I  am  dead 
To  sit  beside  a  low  green  mound, 

Or  bring  the  first  gay  daffodils 
Because  I  love  them  so, 

For  I  shall  not  be  there. 

You  cannot  find  me  there. 

I  will  look  up  at  you  from  the  eyes 
Of  little  children; 

I  will  bend  to  meet  you  in  the  swaying  boughs 
Of  bud-thrilled  trees, 

And  caress  you  with  the  passionate  sweep 
Of  storm-filled  winds; 

I  will  give  you  strength  in  your  upward  tread 
Of  everlasting  hills; 


DEATH  AND  IMMORTALITY 


70S 


I  will  cool  your  tired  body  in  the  flow 
Of  the  limpid  river; 

I  will  warm  your  work-glorified  hands  through  the  glow 
Of  the  winter  fire ; 

I  will  soothe  you  into  forgetfulness  to  the  drop,  drop 
Of  the  rain  on  the  roof ; 

I  will  speak  to  you  out  of  the  rhymes 
Of  the  Masters; 

I  will  dance  with  you  in  the  lilt 
Of  the  violin, 

And  make  your  heart  leap  with  the  bursting  cadence 
Of  the  organ; 

I  will  flood  your  soul  with  the  flaming  radiance 
Of  the  sunrise, 

And  bring  you  peace  in  the  tender  rose  and  gold 
Of  the  after-sunset. 

All  these  have  made  me  happy: 

They  are  a  part  of  me; 

I  shall  become  a  part  of  them. 


VIT7E  SUMMA  BREVIS  SPEM  NOS  VETAT 
INCOHARE  LONGAM 

Ernest  Dowson 

They  are  not  long,  the  weeping  and  the  laughter, 
Love  and  desire  and  hate : 

I  think  they  have  no  portion  in  us  after 
We  pass  the  gate. 

They  are  not  long,  the  days  of  wine  and  roses : 

Out  of  a  misty  dream. 

Our  path  emerges  for  a  while,  then  closes 
Within  a  dream. 


706  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

EPITAPH 
Louise  Driscoll 

Here  lies  the  flesh  that  tried 
To  follow  the  spirit’s  leading: 

Fallen,  at  last,  it  died 

Broken,  bruised,  and  bleeding. 

Burned  by  the  high  fires 
Of  the  spirit’s  desires. 

It  had  no  dream  to  sing 
Of  ultimate  Liberty 

Fashioned  for  suffering 
To  endure  transiently, 

And  conscious  that  it  must 
Return  as  dust  to  dust. 

It  blossomed  a  weak  hour, 

Was  rosy,  warm  and  strong; 

It  went  like  a  wilted  flower, 

It  ended  like  a  song, 

Some  one  closed  a  door — 

And  it  was  seen  no  more. 

The  grass  is  very  kind 

(It  knows  so  many  dead!) 

Those  whom  it  covers  find 
Their  wild  hearts  comforted; 

Their  pulses  need  not  meet 
The  spirit’s  need  and  heat. 

Here  lies  the  flesh  that  held 
The  spirit  prisoner — 

A  caged  thing  that  rebelled 
Forced  to  sub-minister; 

Broken  it  had  to  be; 

To  set  its  captive  free. 


DEATH  AND  IMMORTALITY 


707 


It  is  very  glad  to  rest, 

It  calls  to  roots  and  rain 
Safe  in  its  mother’s  breast 
Ready  to  bloom  again. 

After  a  day  and  hour 

’Twill  greet  the  sun — a  flower. 


OH,  MAY  I  JOIN  THE  CHOIR  INVISIBLE 

George  Eliot 

Oh,  may  I  join  the  choir  invisible 
Of  those  immortal  dead  who  live  again 
In  minds  made  better  by  their  presence;  live 
In  pulses  stirred  to  generosity, 

In  deeds  of  daring  rectitude,  in  scorn 
Of  miserable  aims  that  end  with  self, 

In  thoughts  sublime  that  pierce  the  night  like  stars. 
And  with  their  mild  persistence  urge  men’s  search 
To  vaster  issues. 

— So  to  live  is  heaven : 

To  make  undying  music  in  the  world, 

Breathing  a  beauteous  order,  that  controls 
With  growing  sway  the  growing  life  of  man. 

So  we  inherit  that  sweet  purity 
For  which  we  struggled,  failed  and  agonized 
With  widening  retrospect  that  bred  despair. 
Rebellious  flesh  that  would  not  be  subdued, 

A  vicious  parent  shaming  still  its  child, 

Poor  anxious  penitence,  is  quick  dissolved; 

Its  discords  quenched  by  meeting  harmonies, 

Die  in  the  large  and  charitable  air. 

And  all  our  rarer,  better,  truer  self, 

That  sobbed  religiously  in  yearning  song, 

That  watched  to  ease  the  burden  of  the  world, 
Laboriously  tracing  what  must  be. 

And  what  may  yet  be  better, — saw  within 
A  worthier  image  for  the  sanctuary, 


708  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

And  shaped  it  forth  before  the  multitude, 

Divinely  human,  raising  worship  so 
To  higher  reverence  more  mixed  with  love, — 

That  better  self  shall  live  till  human  Time 
Shall  fold  its  eyelids,  and  the  human  sky 
Be  gathered  like  a  scroll  within  the  tomb, 

Unread  forever. 


This  is  life  to  come, 

Which  martyred  men  have  made  more  glorious 
For  us,  who  strive  to  follow. 

May  I  reach 

That  purest  heaven, — be  to  other  souls 
The  cup  of  strength  in  some  great  agony, 

Enkindle  generous  ardor,  feed  pure  love, 

Beget  the  smiles  that  have  no  cruelty, 

Be  the  sweet  presence  of  a  good  diffused, 

And  in  diffusion  ever  more  intense ! 

So  shall  I  join  the  choir  invisible, 

Whose  music  is  the  gladness  of  the  world. 

LIFE’S  EVENING 
Dudley  Foulke 

Three  score  and  ten !  The  tumult  of  the  world 
Grows  dull  upon  my  inattentive  ear : 

The  bugle  calls  are  faint,  the  flags  are  furled, 

Gone  is  the  rapture,  vanished  too  the  fear; 

The  evening’s  blessed  stillness  covers  all, 

As  o’er  the  fields  she  folds  her  cloak  of  grey; 
Hushed  are  the  winds,  the  brown  leaves  slowly  fall, 
The  russet  clouds  hang  on  the  fringe  of  day. 
What  fairer  hour  than  this?  No  stir  of  morn 
With  cries  of  waking  life,  nor  shafts  of  noon — 
Hot  tresses  from  the  flaming  sun-god  born — 

Nor  midnight’s  shivering  stars  and  marble  moon; 
But  softly  twilight  falls  and  toil  doth  cease, 

While  o’er  my  soul  God  spreads  his  mantle — peace. 


DEATH  AND  IMMORTALITY 


MY  DEAD 

Frederick  Lucian  Hosmer 

I  cannot  think  of  them  as  dead 
Who  walk  with  me  no  more; 

Along  the  path  of  life  I  tread 
They  have  but  gone  before. 

The  Father’s  house  is  mansioned  fair 
Beyond  my  vision  dim; 

All  souls  are  His,  and  here  or  there 
Are  living  unto  Him. 

And  still  their  silent  ministry 
Within  my  heart  hath  place, 

As  when  they  on  earth  walked  with  me 
And  met  me  face  to  face. 

Their  lives  are  made  forever  mine; 
What  they  to  me  have  been, 

Llath  left  henceforth  its  seal  and  sign 
Engraven  deep  within. 

Mine  are  they  by  an  ownership 
Nor  time  nor  death  can  free; 

For  God  hath  given  to  Love  to  keep 
Its  own  eternally. 


HABEAS  CORPUS 

Helen  Hunt  Jackson 
(Last  Poem) 

My  body,  eh?  Friend  Death,  how  now? 

Why  all  this  tedious  pomp  of  writ? 
Thou  hast  reclaimed  it  sure  and  slow 
For  half  a  century,  bit  by  bit. 


710  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

In  faith  thou  knowest  more  to-day 
Than  I  do,  where  it  can  be  found ! 

This  shriveled  lump  of  suffering  clay 
To  which  I  now  am  chained  and  bound, 

Has  not  of  kith  or  kin  a  trace 
To  the  good  body  once  I  bore; 

Look  at  this  shrunken,  ghastly  face : 

Didst  ever  see  that  face  before? 

Ah,  well,  Friend  Death,  good  friend  thou  art; 

Thy  only  fault  thy  lagging  gait, 

Mistaken  pity  in  thy  heart 

For  timorous  ones  that  bid  thee  wait. 

Do  quickly  all  thou  hast  to  do, 

Nor  I  nor  mine  will  hindrance  make; 

I  shall  be  free  when  thou  art  through; 

I  grudge  thee  naught  that  thou  must  take ! 

Stay  !  I  have  lied  :  I  grudge  thee  one, 

Yes,  two  I  grudge  thee  at  this  last, — 

Two  members  which  have  faithful  done 
My  will  and  bidding  in  the  past. 

I  grudge  thee  this  right  hand  of  mine; 

I  grudge  thee  this  quick-beating  heart; 

They  never  gave  me  coward  sign, 

Nor  played  me  once  a  traitor’s  part. 

I  see  now  why  in  olden  days 
Men  in  barbaric  love  or  hate 
Nailed  enemy’s  hands  at  wild  cross-ways, 

Shrined  leaders’  hearts  in  costly  state : 

The  symbol,  sign,  and  instrument 

Of  each  soul’s  purpose,  passion,  strife, 

Of  fires,  in  which  are  poured  and  spent 
Their  all  of  love,  their  all  of  life. 


DEATH  AND  IMMORTALITY 


O  feeble,  mighty  human  hand ! 

O  fragile,  dauntless  human  heart ! 

The  universe  holds  nothing  planned 
With  such  sublime,  transcendent  art ! 

Yes,  Death,  I  own  I  grudge  thee  mine 
Poor  little  hand,  so  feeble  now; 

Its  wrinkled  palm,  its  altered  line, 

Its  veins  so  pallid  and  so  slow  .  .  . 

(Unfinished  here) 


Ah,  well,  friend  Death,  good  friend  thou  art: 

I  shall  be  free  when  thou  art  through. 

Take  all  there  is, — take  hand  and  heart: 

There  must  be  somewhere  work  to  do. 


IMMORTALITY 
Job  XIV,  1-12 

From  Moulton’s  Modern  Reader's  Bible 

Man  that  is  born  of  woman 

Is  of  few  days,  and  full  of  trouble ; 

He  cometh  forth  like  a  flower,  and  is  cut  down, 
He  fleeth  also  as  shadow  and  continueth  not. 


For  there  is  hope  of  a  tree  if  it  be  cut  down, 

That  it  will  sprout  again, 

And  that  the  tender  branch  thereof  will  not  cease ; 

Though  the  root  thereof  wax  old  in  the  earth, 
And  the  stock  thereof  die  in  the  ground, 

Yet  through  the  scent  of  water  it  will  bud, 
And  put  forth  boughs  like  a  plant. 

But  man  dieth  and  wasteth  away  : 

Yea,  man  giveth  up  the  ghost,  and  where  is  he 
As  the  waters  fail  from  the  sea, 

And  the  river  decayeth  and  drieth  up. 


712  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

So  man  lieth  down  and  riseth  not; 

Till  the  heavens  be  no  more  they  shall  not  awake, 

Nor  be  roused  out  of  their  sleep. 

Job  XIX,  25-27 

For  I  know  that  my  vindicator  liveth, 

And  that  He  shall  stand  up  at  the  last  upon  the  earth  , 
And  after  my  skin  hath  been  thus  destroyed, 

Yet  without  my  flesh  shall  I  see  God! 

Whom  I  shall  see  on  my  side, 

And  mine  eyes  shall  behold  and  not  another. 

— My  reins  are  consumed  within  me — 

(End  of  speech  of  Job.  He  is  unable  to  go  on.) 


MEN  TOLD  ME,  LORD! 

David  Starr  Jordan 

Men  told  me,  Lord,  it  was  a  vale  of  tears 
Where  thou  hadst  placed  me;  wickedness  and  woe 
My  twain  companions  whereso  I  might  go ; 

That  I  through  ten  and  three-score  weary  years 
Should  stumble  on,  beset  by  pains  and  fears, 

Fierce  conflict  round  me,  passions  hot  within, 
Enjoyment  brief  and  fatal,  but  in  sin. 

When  all  was  ended  then  I  should  demand 
Full  compensation  from  thine  austere  hand: 

For  ’tis  thy  pleasure,  all  temptation  past. 

To  be  not  just  but  generous  at  last. 

Lord,  here  am  I,  my  three  score  years  and  ten 
Are  counted  to  the  full ;  I’ve  fought  thy  fight, 

Crossed  thy  dark  valleys,  scaled  thy  rocks’  harsh  height. 
Borne  all  the  burdens  thou  dost  lay  on  men 
With  hand  unsparing,  three  score  years  and  ten. 
Before  thee  now  I  make  my  claim,  Oh,  Lord ! 

What  shall  I  pay  thee  as  a  meet  reward? 


DEATH  AND  IMMORTALITY 


7*3 


I  ask  for  nothing !  Let  the  balance  fall ! 

All  that  I  am  or  know,  or  may  confess 
But  swells  the  weight  of  my  indebtedness ; 
Burdens  and  sorrows  stand  transfigured  all; 

Thy  hand’s  rude  buffet  turns  to  a  caress, 

For  Love,  with  all  the  rest,  thou  gavest  me  here, 
And  Love  is  heaven’s  very  atmosphere. 

Lo,  I  have  dwelt  with  thee,  Lord !  Let  me  die : 

I  could  no  more  through  all  eternity ! 


From  THE  RUBAIYAT 

Omar  Khayyam 

Translated  by  Edward  Fitzgerald 

Come,  fill  the  Cup,  and  in  the  fire  of  Spring 
Your  Winter-garment  of  Repentance  fling: 

The  Bird  of  Time  has  but  a  little  way 
To  flutter — and  the  Bird  is  on  the  Wing. 

Whether  at  Naishapur  or  Babylon, 

Whether  the  Cup  with  sweet  or  bitter  run, 

The  Wine  of  Life  keeps  oozing,  drop  by  drop, 

The  Leaves  of  Life  keep  falling,  one  by  one. 

Each  Morn  a  thousand  Roses  brings,  you  say; 

Yes,  but  where  leaves  the  Rose  of  Yesterday? 

And  this  first  Summer  month  that  brings  the  Rose 
Shall  take  Jamshyd  and  Kaikobad  away. 

Well,  let  it  take  them!  What  have  we  to  do 
With  Kaikobad  the  great,  or  Kaikhosru? 

Let  Zal  and  Rustum  bluster  as  they  will, 

Or  Hastim  call  to  Supper — heed  not  you. 

With  me  along  the  strip  of  herbage  strown 
That  just  divides  the  desert  from  the  sown, 

Where  name  of  Slave  and  Sultan  is  forgot — 

And  peace  to  Mahmud  on  his  golden  throne. 


714  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

A  Book  of  Verses  underneath  the  Bough, 

A  jug  of  Wine,  a  Loaf  of  Bread — and  Thou 
Beside  me  singing  in  the  Wilderness — 

Oh,  Wilderness  were  Paradise  enow ! 

Some  for  the  Glories  of  this  World,  and  some 
Sigh  for  the  Prophet’s  Paradise  to  come; 

Ah,  take  the  Cash  and  let  the  Credit  go, 

Nor  heed  the  rumble  of  a  distant  Drum! 

Look  to  the  blowing  Rose  about  us — “Lo, 
Laughing,”  she  says,  “into  the  world  I  blow. 

At  once  the  silken  tassels  of  my  Purse 
Tear,  and  its  Treasure  on  the  Garden  throw.” 

And  those  who  husbanded  the  Golden  grain, 

And  those  who  flung  it  to  the  winds  Like  rain, 
Alike  to  no  such  aureate  Earth  are  turned 
As,  buried  once,  Men  want  dug  up  again. 

The  Worldly  Hope  men  set  their  Hearts  upon 
Turns  Ashes — or  it  prospers;  and  anon, 

Like  Snow  upon  the  Desert’s  dusty  Face, 

Lighting  a  little  hour  or  two — is  gone. 

Think,  in  this  battered  Caravanserai 
Whose  Portals  are  alternate  Night  and  Day, 

How  Sultan  after  Sultan  in  his  Pomp 
Abode  his  destined  Hour  and  went  his  way. 

They  say  the  Lion  and  the  Lizard  keep 

The  Courts  where  Jamshyd  gloried  and  drank  deep; 

And  Bahrain,  that  great  hunter, — the  Wild  Ass 
Stamps  o’er  his  Head  but  cannot  break  his  Sleep. 

I  sometimes  think  that  never  blows  so  red 
The  Rose  as  where  some  buried  Caesar  bled; 

That  every  Hyacinth  the  Garden  wears 
Dropt  in  her  Lap  from  some  once  lovely  Head. 


DEATH  AND  IMMORTALITY 


715 


And  this  reviving  Herb  whose  tender  Green 
Fledges  the  River-lip  on  which  we  lean — 

Ah,  lean  upon  it  lightly !  for  who  knows 
From  what  once  lovely  Lip  it  springs  unseen! 

Ah,  my  Beloved,  fill  the  Cup  that  clears 
Today  of  past  Regret  and  future  Fears : 

To-morrow  ! — Why,  To-morrow  I  may  be 
Myself  with  Yesterday’s  Seven  thousand  Years. 

For  some  we  loved,  the  loveliest  and  the  best 
That  from  his  Vintage  rolling  Time  hath  pressed, 

Have  drunk  their  Cup  a  Round  or  two  before, 

And  one  by  one  crept  silently  to  rest. 

And  we,  that  now  make  merry  in  the  Room 
They  left,  and  Summer  dresses  in  new  bloom, 

Ourselves  must  we  beneath  the  Couch  of  Earth 
Descend — ourselves  to  make  a  Couch — for  whom? 

Ah,  make  the  most  of  what  we  yet  may  spend, 

•  Before  we,  too,  into  the  Dust  descend; 

Dust  into  Dust,  and  under  Dust  to  lie, 

Sans  Wine,  sans  Song,  sans  Singer,  and — sans  End ! 

L’ENVOI 
Rudyard  Kipling 

When  earth’s  last  picture  is  painted,  and  the  tubes  are  twisted 
and  dried, 

When  the  oldest  colors  have  faded,  and  the  youngest  critic  has 
died, 

We  shall  rest,  and, — faith,  we  shall  need  it, — lie  down  for  an 
aeon  or  two, 

Till  the  Master  of  all  Good  Workmen  shall  set  us  to  work  anew ! 

And  those  that  were  good  shall  be  happy :  they  shall  sit  in  a 
golden  chair; 

They  shall  splash  at  a  ten-league  canvas  with  brushes  of  comets’ 
hair ; 


yi6  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

They  shall  find  real  saints  to  draw  from — Magdalen,  Peter,  and 
Paul ; 

They  shall  work  for  an  age  at  a  sitting,  and  never  be  tired  at  all ! 

And  only  the  Master  shall  praise  us,  and  only  the  Master  shall 
blame ; 

And  no  one  shall  work  for  money,  and  no  one  shall  work  for 
fame ; 

But  each  for  the  joy  of  the  working,  and  each  in  his  separate 
star 

Shall  draw  the  Thing  as  he  sees  It  for  the  God  of  the  Things 
as  They  are ! 

MY  OWN  HEREAFTER 

Eugene  Lee-Hamilton 

Where  angel  trumpets  hail  a  brighter  sun 
With  their  superb  alarum,  and  the  flash 
Of  angel  cymbals  dazzles  as  they  clash, 

Seek  not  to  find  me,  when  my  sands  are  run ; 

Nor  where,  in  mail  of  sapphire  every  one, 

God’s  sentries  man  the  walls,  that  light’s  waves  wash 
With  an  eternal  angel — heard  faint  plash — 

But  in  some  book  of  sonnets,  when  day’s  done, 

There  in  the  long  June  twilight,  as  you  read, 

You  will  encounter  my  immortal  parts, 

If  any  such  I  have,  from  earth’s  clay  freed; 

Divested  of  their  sins,  to  be  the  seed 

Perhaps  of  some  slight  good  in  others’  hearts. 

That  is  the  only  after-life  I  need. 

A  CREED 

John  Masefield 

I  hold  that  when  a  person  dies 
His  soul  returns  again  to  earth; 

Arrayed  in  some  new  flesh-disguise 
Another  mother  gives  him  birth. 


DEATH  AND  IMMORTALITY 


717 


With  sturdier  limbs  and  mightier  brain 
The  old  soul  takes  the  roads  again. 

Such  is  my  own  belief  and  trust; 

This  hand,  this  hand  that  holds  the  pen, 
Has  many  hundred  times  been  dust 
And  turned,  as  dust,  to  dust  again ; 

These  eyes  of  mine  have  blinked  and  shone 
In  Thebes,  in  Troy,  in  Babylon. 

All  that  I  rightly  think  or  do, 

Or  make,  or  spoil,  or  bless,  or  blast, 

Is  curse  or  blessing  justly  due 
For  sloth  or  effort  in  the  past. 

My  life’s  a  statement  of  the  sum 
Of  vice  indulged,  or  overcome. 

I  know  that  in  my  lives  to  be 

My  sorry  heart  will  ache  and  burn, 

And  worship  unavailingly, 

The  woman  whom  I  used  to  spurn, 

And  shake  to  see  another  have 
The  love  I  spurned,  the  love  she  gave. 

And  I  shall  know,  in  angry  words, 

In  gibes,  and  mocks,  and  many  a  tear, 

A  carrion  flock  of  homing-birds, 

The  gibes  and  scorns  I  uttered  here. 

The  brave  word  that  I  failed  to  speak 
Will  brand  me  dastard  on  the  cheek. 

And  as  I  wander  on  the  roads 

I  shall  be  helped  and  healed  and  blessed; 
Dear  words  shall  cheer  and  be  as  goads 
To  urge  to  heights  before  unguessed. 

My  road  shall  be  the  road  I  made; 

All  that  I  gave  shall  be  repaid. 

So  shall  I  fight,  so  shall  I  tread, 

In  this  long  war  beneath  the  stars; 


718  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

So  shall  a  glory  wreathe  my  head, 

So  shall  I  faint  and  show  the  scars, 

Until  this  case,  this  clogging  mould, 

Be  smithied  all  to  kingly  gold. 


From  THE  TRAGEDY  OF  POMPEY  THE  GREAT 

John  Masefield 

Man  is  a  sacred  city  built  of  marvelous  earth. 

Life  was  lived  nobly  here  to  give  such  beauty  birth. 

Beauty  was  in  this  brain  and  in  this  eager  hand : 

Death  is  so  blind  and  dumb,  Death  does  not  understand. 

Death  drifts  the  brain  with  dust  and  soils  the  young  limb’s  glory. 
Death  makes  women  a  dream,  and  men  a  traveller’s  story. 
Death  drives  the  lovely  soul  to  wander  under  the  sky. 

Death  opens  unknown  doors.  It  is  most  grand  to  die. 


From  THE  EVERLASTING  MERCY 
John  Masefield 

I  opened  the  window  wide  and  leaned 
Out  of  the  pigstye  of  that  fiend 
And  felt  a  cool  wind  go  like  grace 
About  the  sleeping  market-place. 

The  clock  struck  three,  and  sweetly,  slowly, 
The  bells  chimed  Holy,  Holy,  Holy; 

•  •  •  •  • 

And  summat  made  me  think  of  things. 
How  long  those  ticking  clocks  had  gone 
From  church  and  chapel,  on  and  on, 
Ticking  the  time  out,  ticking  slow 
To  men  and  girls  who’d  come  and  go, 

•  *  •  •  • 

And  how  a  change  had  come.  And  then 
I  thought,  “you  tick  the  different  men.” 


DEATH  AND  IMMORTALITY 


7i  9 


What  with  fight  and  what  with  drinking 
And  being  alone  there  thinking, 

My  mind  began  to  carp  and  tetter, 

“If  this  life’s  all,  the  beasts  are  better.” 

O  Christ  who  holds  the  open  gate, 

O  Christ  who  drives  the  furrow  straight, 

O  Christ,  the  plough,  O  Christ,  the  laughter, 
Of  holy  white  birds  flying  after, 

Lo,  all  my  heart’s  field  red  and  torn, 

And  Thou  wilt  bring  young  green  corn, 

The  young  green  corn  divinely  springing. 
The  young  green  corn  forever  singing; 

And  when  the  field  is  fresh  and  fair 
Thy  blessed  feet  shall  glitter  there. 

And  we  will  walk  the  weeded  field, 

And  tell  the  golden  harvest’s  yield, 

The  corn  that  makes  the  holy  bread 
By  which  the  soul  of  man  is  fed, 

The  holy  bread,  the  food  unpriced, 

Thy  everlasting  mercy,  Christ. 


TRUTH 

John  Masefield 

Man  with  his  burning  soul 
Has  but  an  hour  of  breath 
To  build  a  ship  of  Truth 
In  which  his  soul  may  sail, 
Sail  on  the  sea  of  death. 
For  death  takes  toll 
Of  beauty,  courage,  youth, 
Of  all  but  Truth. 

Life’s  city  ways  are  dark. 
Men  mutter  by ;  the  wells 
Of  the  great  waters  moan. 
O  Death,  O  sea,  O  tide, 


720  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

The  waters  moan  like  bells. 

No  light,  no  mark, 

The  soul  goes  out  alone 
On  seas  unknown. 

Stripped  of  all  purple  robes. 

Stripped  of  all  golden  lies, 

I  will  not  be  afraid. 

Truth  will  preserve  through  death; 
Perhaps  the  stars  will  rise, 

The  stars  like  globes. 

The  ship  my  striving  made 
May  see  night  fade. 


THE  QUESTION  WHITHER 
George  Meredith 

When  we  have  thrown  off  this  old  suit 
So  much  in  need  of  mending, 

To  sink  among  the  naked  mute, 

Is  that,  think  you,  our  ending? 

We  follow  many,  more  we  lead, 

And  you  who  sadly  turf  us, 

Believe  not  that  all  living  seed 
Must  flower  above  the  surface. 

Sensation  is  a  gracious  gift 

But  were  it  cramped  to  station, 

The  prayer  to  have  it  cast  adrift 
Would  spout  from  all  sensation. 
Enough  if  we  have  winked  to  sun, 
Have  sped  the  plough  a  season, 
There  is  a  soul  for  labor  done, 
Endureth  fixed  as  reason. 

Then  let  our  trust  be  firm  in  Good, 
Though  we  be  of  the  fasting; 

Our  questions  are  a  mortal  brood, 

Our  work  is  everlasting. 


DEATH  AND  IMMORTALITY 


721 


We  Children  of  Beneficence 
Are  in  its  being  sharers; 

And  Whither  vainer  sounds  than  Whence 
For  word  with  such  wayfarers. 


A  SONG  OF  DERIVATIONS 
Alice  Meynell 

I  come  from  nothing,  but  from  where 
Come  the  undying  thoughts  I  bear  ? 

Down,  through  long  links  of  death  and  birth, 
From  the  past  poets  of  earth, 

My  immortality  is  there. 

I  am  like  the  blossom  of  an  hour 
But  long,  long  vanished  sun  and  shower 
Awoke  my  breath  i’  the  young  world’s  air. 

I  track  the  past  back  everywhere 
Through  seed  and  flower  and  seed  and  flower. 

Or,  I  am  like  a  stream  that  flows 
Full  of  the  cold  springs  that  arose 
In  morning  lands,  in  distant  hills; 

And  down  the  plain  my  channel  fills 
With  melting  of  forgotten  snows. 

Voices  I  have  not  heard,  possessed 
My  own  fresh  songs ;  my  thoughts  are  blessed 
With  relics  of  the  far  unknown. 

And  mixed  with  memories  not  my  own 
The  sweet  streams  throng  into  my  breast. 

Before  this  life  began  to  be, 

The  happy  songs  that  wake  in  me 
Woke  long  ago  and  far  apart. 

Heavily  on  this  little  heart 
Presses  this  immortality. 


722  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


THE  FINAL  MYSTERY 
Sir  Henry  Newbolt 

(A  myth  of  Egyptian  origin,  which  formed  part  of  the  instruc 
tion  given  to  those  initiated  in  the  Orphic  mysteries.  Written  ver 
sions  of  it  were  buried  with  the  dead.) 

Hear  now,  O  Soul,  the  last  command  of  all — 

When  thou  hast  left  thine  every  mortal  mark, 

And  by  the  road  that  lies  beyond  recall 
Won  through  the  desert  of  the  Burning  Dark, 

Thou  shalt  behold,  within  a  garden  bright, 

A  well,  beside  a  cypress  ivory-white. 

Still  is  that  well,  and  in  its  waters  cool 
White,  white  and  windless,  sleeps  that  cypress  tree : 
Who  drinks  but  once  from  out  her  shadowy  pool 
Shall  thirst  no  more  to  all  eternity. 

Forgetting  all,  by  all  forgotten  clean, 

His  soul  shall  be  with  that  which  hath  not  been. 

But  thou,  though  thou  be  trembling  with  thy  dread, 
And  parched  with  thy  desire  more  fierce  than  flame, 
Think  on  that  stream  wherefrom  thy  life  was  fed, 

And  that  diviner  fountain  whence  it  came. 

Turn  thee  and  cry — behold,  it  is  not  far — 

Unto  the  hills  where  living  waters  are : 

“Lord,  though  I  lived  on  earth,  the  child  of  earth, 
Yet  I  was  fathered  by  the  starry  sky; 

Thou  knowest  I  came  not  of  the  shadows’  birth, 

Let  me  not  die  the  death  the  shadows  die. 

Give  me  to  drink  of  the  sweet  stream  that  leaps 
From  Memory’s  fount,  wherein  no  cypress  sleeps.” 

Then  shalt  thou  drink,  O  Soul,  and  therewith  slake 
The  immortal  longing  with  thy  mortal  thirst ; 

So  of  thy  father’s  life  shalt  thou  partake, 

And  be  forever  that  thou  wert  at  Erst. 


DEATH  AND  IMMORTALITY 


723 


Lost  in  remembered  loves,  yet  thou  more  thou 
With  them  shalt  reign  in  never-ending  now. 


OUR  DEAD 
Robert  Nichols 

They  have  not  gone  from  us.  O  no !  they  are 
The  inmost  essence  of  each  thing  that  is 
Perfect  for  us ;  they  flame  in  every  star ; 

The  trees  are  emerald  with  their  presences. 

They  are  not  gone  from  us ;  they  do  not  roam 
The  flaw  and  turmoil  of  the  lower  deep, 

But  have  now  made  the  whole  wide  world  their  home, 
And  in  its  loveliness  themselves  they  steep. 

They  fail  not  ever;  theirs  is  a  'diurn 
Splendor  of  sunny  hill  and  forest  grave; 

In  every  rainbow’s  glittering  drop  they  burn ; 

They  dazzle  in  the  massed  clouds’  architrave, 

They  chant  on  every  wind,  and  they  return 
In  the  long  roll  of  any  deep  blue  wave. 


C.  ETERNAL  REST 


THE  SLEEP 

Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning 

Of  all  the  thoughts  of  Godlthat  are 
Borne  inward  unto  souls  afar, 
Along  the  Psalmist’s  music  deep, 
Now  tell  me  if  that  any  is, 

For  gift  or  grace,  surpassing  this — 1 
‘‘He  giveth  His  beloved,  sleep”? 


THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


724 


What  would  we  give  to  our  beloved? 

The  hero’s  heart,  to  be  unmoved, 

The  poet’s  star-tuned  harp,  to  sweep, 

The  patriot’s  voice,  to  teach  and  rouse, 

The  monarch’s  crown,  to  light  the  brows? 
He  giveth  His  beloved,  sleep. 

What  do  we  give  to  our  beloved? 

A  little  faith  all  undisproved, 

A  little  dust  to  overweep, 

And  bitter  memories  to  make 

The  whole  earth  blasted  for  our  sake : 

He  giveth  His  beloved,  sleep. 

“Sleep  soft,  beloved!”  we  sometimes  say, 
But  have  no  tune  to  charm  away 
Sad  dreams  that  through  the  eyelids  creep. 
But  never  doleful  dream  again 
Shall  break  the  happy  slumber  when 
He  giveth  His  beloved,  sleep. 

O  earth,  so  full  of  dreary  noises ! 

O  men,  with  wailing  in  your  voices ! 

O  delved  gold,  the  wailers  heap  ! 

O  strife,  O  curse,  that  o’er  it  fall ! 

God  strikes  a  silence  through  you  all. 

And  giveth  His  beloved,  sleep. 

His  dews  drop  mutely  on  the  hill, 

His  cloud  above  it  saileth  still, 

Though  on  its  slope  men  sow  and  reap : 
More  softly  than  the  dew  is  shed, 

Or  cloud  is  floated  overhead, 

He  giveth  His  beloved,  sleep. 

Aye,  men  may  wonder  while  they  scan 
A  living,  thinking,  feeling  man 
Confirmed  in  such  a  rest  to  keep; 

But  angels  say, — and  through  the  word 
I  think  their  happy  smile  is  heard — 

“He  giveth  His  beloved,  sleep.” 


DEATH  AND  IMMORTALITY 


725 


For  me,  my  heart  that  erst  did  go 
Most  like  a  tired  child  at  a  show, 

That  sees  through  tears  the  mummers  leap, 
Would  now  its  wearied  vision  close, 

Would  childlike  on  His  love  repose 
Who  giveth  His  beloved,  sleep ! 

And,  friends,  dear  friends, — when  it  shall  be 
That  this  low  breath  is  gone  from  me, 

And  round  my  bier  ye  come  to  weep, 

Let  One,  most  loving  of  you  all, 

Say,  “Not  a  tear  must  o’er  her  fall ! 

He  giveth  His  beloved,  sleep.” 


MARGARITA  SORORI 

William  Ernest  Henley 

A  late  lark  twitters  from  the  quiet  skies; 

And  from  the  west, 

Where  the  sun,  his  day’s  work  ended, 

Lingers  as  in  content, 

There  falls  on  the  old,  grey  city 
An  influence  luminous  and  serene, 

A  shining  peace. 

The  smoke  ascends 

In  a  rosy-and-golden  haze.  The  spires 
Shine,  and  are  changed.  In  the  valley 
Shadows  rise.  The  lark  sings  on.  The  sun, 
Closing  his  benediction, 

Sinks,  and  the  darkening  air 

Thrills  with  a  sense  of  the  triumphing  night — 

Night  with  her  train  of  stars 

And  her  great  gift  of  sleep. 

So  be  my  passing ! 

My  task  accomplished  and  the  long  day  done, 
My  wages  taken,  and  in  my  heart 


726  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

Some  late  lark  singing, 

Let  me  be  gathered  to  the  quiet  west, 

The  sundown  splendid  and  serene, 

Death. 


THE  HILLS  OF  REST 
Albert  Bigelow  Paine 

Beyond  the  last  horizon’s  rim, 

Beyond  adventure’s  farthest  quest, 

Somewhere  they  rise,  serene  and  dim, 
The  happy,  happy,  Hills  of  Rest. 

Upon  their  sunlit  slopes  uplift 

The  castles  we  have  built  in  Spain — 

While  fair  amid  the  summer  drift 
Our  faded  gardens  flower  again. 

Sweet  hours  we  did  not  live  go  by 
To  soothing  note,  on  scented  wing; 

In  golden-lettered  volumes  lie 
The  songs  we  tried  in  vain  to  sing. 

They  all  are  there;  the  days  of  dream 
That  build  the  inner  lives  of  men; 

The  silent,  sacred  years  we  deem 
The  might  be  and  the  might  have  been. 

Some  evening  when  the  sky  is  gold 
I’ll  follow  day  into  the  west; 

Nor  pause,  nor  heed,  till  I  behold 
The  happy,  happy  Hills  of  Rest. 

THE  PLACE  OF  REST 
George  William  Russell  (A.  E.) 

Unto  the  deep  the  deep  heart  goes, 

It  lays  its  sadness  nigh  the  breast : 

Only  the  Mighty  Mother  knows 

The  wounds  that  quiver  unconfessed. 


DEATH  AND  IMMORTALITY 


727 


It  seeks  a  deeper  silence  still; 

It  folds  itself  around  with  peace, 

Where  thoughts  alike  of  good  or  ill 
In  quietness  unfostered  cease. 

It  feels  in  the  unwounding  vast 
For  comfort  of  its  hopes  and  fears: 

The  Mighty  Mother  bows  at  last; 

She  listens  to  her  children’s  tears. 

Where  the  last  anguish  deepens — there 
The  fire  of  beauty  smites  through  pain : 
A  glory  moves  amid  despair, 

The  Mother  takes  her  child  again. 


THE  RENDEZVOUS 
Alan  Seeger 

I  have  a  rendezvous  with  Death 
At  some  disputed  barricade, 

When  Spring  comes  back  with  rustling  shade 
And  apple-blossoms  fill  the  air — 

I  have  a  rendezvous  with  Death 

When  Spring  brings  back  blue  days  and  fair. 

It  may  be  he  shall  take  my  hand 

And  lead  me  into  his  dark  land 

And  close  my  eyes  and  quench  my  breath — 

It  may  be  I  shall  pass  him  still. 

I  have  a  rendezvous  with  Death 
On  some  scarred  slope  of  battered  hill, 

When  Spring  comes  round  again  this  year 
And  the  first  meadow-flowers  appear. 

God  knows  ’twere  better  to  be  deep 
Pillowed  in  silk  and  scented  down, 

Where  Love  throbs  out  in  blissful  sleep, 

Pulse  nigh  to  pulse,  and  breath  to  breath, 


728  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

Where  hushed  awakenings  are  dear. . . . 

But  I’ve  a  rendezvous  with  Death 
At  midnight  in  some  flaming  town, 

When  Spring  trips  north  again  this  year. 

And  I  to  my  pledged  word  am  true, 

I  shall  not  fail  that  rendezvous. 


DREAM  FANTASY 

William  Sharp  (Fiona  Macleod) 

There  is  a  land  of  Dream; 

I  have  trodden  its  golden  ways : 

I  have  seen  its  amber  light 

From  the  heart  of  its  sun-swept  days; 

I  have  seen  its  moonshine  white 
On  its  silent  waters  gleam — 

Ah,  the  strange  sweet  lonely  delight 
Of  the  Valleys  of  Dream. 

Ah,  in  that  Land  of  Dream, 

The  mystical  moon-white  land, 

Comes  from  what  unknown  sea — 

Adream  on  what  unknown  strand — 

A  sound  as  of  feet  that  flee, 

As  of  multitudes  that  stream 
From  the  shores  of  that  shadowy  sea 
Through  the  Valleys  of  Dream. 

It  is  dark  in  the  Land  of  Dream. 

There  is  silence  in  all  the  Land. 

Are  the  dead  all  gathered  there — 

In  havens,  by  no  breath  fanned? 

This  stir  i’  the  dawn,  this  chill  wan  air — 
This  faint  dim  yellow  of  morning  gleam— 
O,  is  this  sleep,  or  waking  where 
Lie  hush’d  the  Valleys  of  Dream? 


DEATH  AND  IMMORTALITY 


729 


OMNIA  EXEUNT  IN  MYSTERIUM 
George  Sterling 

The  stranger  in  my  gates — lo !  that  am  I, 

And  what  my  land  of  birth  I  do  not  know, 

Nor  yet  the  hidden  land  to  which  I  go. 

One  may  be  lord  of  many  ere  he  die, 

And  tell  of  many  sorrows  in  one  sigh, 

But  know  himself  he  shall  not,  nor  his  woe, 

Nor  to  what  sea  the  tears  of  wisdom  flow; 

Nor  why  one  star  is  taken  from  the  sky. 

An  urging  is  upon  him  evermore, 

And  though  he  bide,  his  soul  is  wanderer, 
Scanning  the  shadows  with  a  sense  of  haste — 
Where  fade  the  tracks  of  all  who  went  before : 
A  dim  and  solitary  traveller 
On  ways  that  end  in  evening  and  the  waste. 


REQUIEM 

Robert  Louis  Stevenson 

Under  the  wide  and  starry  sky 
Dig  the  grave  and  let  me  lie, 

Glad  did  I  live  and  gladly  die, 

And  I  laid  me  down  with  a  will. 

This  be  the  verse  you  grave  for  me : 
Here  he  lies  where  he  longed  to  he; 
Home  is  the  sailor ,  home  from  the  sea, 
And  the  hunter  home  from  the  hill. 


730  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


EXILE  FROM  GOD 
John  Hall  Wheelock 

I  do  not  fear  to  lay  my  body  down 
In  death,  to  share 

The  life  of  the  dark  earth  and  lose  my  own. 
If  God  is  there. 

I  have  so  loved  all  sense  of  Him,  sweet  might 
Of  color  and  of  sound, — 

His  tangible  loveliness  and  living  light 
That  robes  me  ’round. 

If  to  His  heart  in  the  hushed  grave  and  dim 
We  sink  more  near, 

It  shall  be  well — living  we  rest  in  Him. 

Only  I  fear 

Lest  from  my  God  in  lonely  death  I  lapse, 

And  the  dumb  clod 

Lose  Him;  for  God  is  life,  and  death  perhaps 
Exile  from  God. 


DEEP  SEA  SOUNDINGS 
Sarah  Williams 
Mariner,  what  of  the  deep? 

This  of  the  deep : 

Twilight  is  there,  and  solemn  changeless  calm; 
Beauty  is  there,  and  tender,  healing  balm — 

Balm  with  no  root  in  earth,  or  air,  or  sea, 

Poised  by  the  finger  of  God,  it  floateth  free, 

And,  as  it  threads  the  waves,  the  sound  doth  rise,— 
Hither  shall  come  no  further  sacrifice; 

Never  again  the  anguished  clutch  at  life, 

Never  again  great  Love  and  Death  in  strife; 


DEATH  AND  IMMORTALITY 


73i 


He  who  hath  suffered  all  need  fear  no  more; 

Quiet  his  portion  now  forevermore. 

Mariner,  what  of  the  deep  ? 

This  of  the  deep : 

Solitude  dwells  not  there,  though  silence  reign; 

Mighty  is  the  brotherhood  of  loss  and  pain ; 

There  is  communion  past  the  need  of  speech, 

There  is  love  no  words  of  love  can  reach; 

Heavy  the  waves  that  superincumbent  press, 

But  as  we  labor  here  with  constant  stress, 

Hand  doth  hold  out  to  hand  not  help  alone, 

But  the  deep  bliss  of  being  fully  known. 

There  are  no  kindred  like  the  kin  of  sorrow, 

There  is  no  hope  like  theirs  who  know  no  morrow. 

Mariner,  what  of  the  deep  ? 

This  of  the  deep : 

Though  we  have  travelled  past  the  line  of  day, 

Glory  of  night  doth  light  us  on  our  way, 

Radiance  that  comes  not  how  nor  whence, 

Rainbows  without  rain,  past  duller  sense, 

Music  of  hidden  reefs  and  waves  long  past, 

Thunderous  organ  tones  from  far-off  blast, 

Harmony,  victrix,  throned  in  state  sublime, 

Couched  on  the  wrecks  be-gemmed  with  pearls  of  time; 
Never  a  wreck  but  brings  some  beauty  here; 

Down  where  the  waves  are  stilled  the  sun  shines  clear; 
Deeper  than  life,  the  plan  of  life  doth  lie; 

He  who  knows  all,  fears  not.  Great  Death  shall  die. 


From  ODE,  INTIMATIONS  OF  IMMORTALITY 

William  Wordsworth 

Our  birth  is  but  a  sleep  and  a  forgetting: 

The  Soul  that  rises  with  us,  our  life’s  Star. 

Hath  had  elsewhere  its  setting, 

And  cometh  from  afar : 


732  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

Not  in  entire  forgetfulness, 

And  not  in  utter  nakedness, 

But  trailing  clouds  of  glory  do  we  come 
From  God,  who  is  our  home: 

Heaven  lies  about  us  in  our  infancy ! 

Shades  of  the  prison-house  begin  to  close 
Upon  the  growing  Boy; 

But  He  beholds  the  light,  and  whence  it  flows, 

He  sees  it  in  his  joy; 

The  Youth  who  daily  farther  from  the  east 
Must  travel,  still  is  Nature’s  Priest, 

And  by  the  vision  splendid 
Is  on  his  way  attended; 

At  length  the  Man  perceives  it  die  away, 

And  fade  into  the  light  of  common  day. 


XII.  The  Nature  of  the  Future  Life 

a.  THE  MEDIAEVAL  CONCEPTION - THE  CITY 

SUPERNAL 

b.  THE  MODERN  CONCEPTION 

1.  There  Is  Future  Life,  hut  We  Do  Not 

Know  What  It  Is 

2.  We  Are  Builders  of  the  City  now 


XII.  The  Nature  of  the  Future  Life 

a.  THE  MEDIAEVAL  CONCEPTION — THE  CITY  SUPERNAL 


JERUSALEM,  MY  HAPPY  HOME 

Anonymous  (From  the  Latin.) 

Jerusalem,  my  happy  home, 

When  shall  I  come  to  thee? 

When  shall  my  sorrows  have  an  end? 

Thy  joys  when  shall  I  see? 

O  happy  harbor  of  the  saints ! 

O  sweet  and  pleasant  soil ! 

In  thee  no  sorrow  may  be  found, 

No  grief,  no  care,  no  toil. 

Thy  gardens  and  thy  gallant  walks 
Continually  are  green; 

There  grow  such  sweet  and  pleasant  flowers 
As  nowhere  else  are  seen; 

Quite  through  the  streets  with  silver  sound 
The  flood  of  life  doth  flow, 

Upon  whose  banks  on  every  side 
The  wood  of  life  doth  grow. 

The  saints  are  crowned  wi$h  glory  great, 
They  see  God  face  to  face; 

They  triumph  still,  they  still  rejoice; 

Most  happy  is  their  case ; 

For  there  they  live  in  such  delight, 

Such  pleasure  and  such  play, 

As  that  to  them  a  thousand  years, 

Doth  seem  as  yesterday. 

735 


736  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

There  Magdalene  hath  left  her  moan. 

And  cheerfully  doth  sing 
With  blessed  saints,  whose  harmony 
In  every  street  doth  ring. 

Ah,  my  sweet  home  Jerusalem, 

Would  God  I  were  in  thee ! 

Would  God  my  woes  were  at  an  end 
Thy  joys  that  I  might  see! 


JERUSALEM,  THE  GOLDEN 

Bernard  of  Cluny 

Jerusalem  the  Golden, 

With  milk  and  honey  blest, 
Beneath  thy  contemplation, 

Sink  heart  and  voice  opprest; 

I  know  not,  O  I  know  not, 

What  social  joys  are  there, 
What  radiancy  of  glory, 

What  light  beyond  compare. 

They  stand,  those  walls  of  Zion, 
All  jubilant  with  song, 

And  bright  with  many  an  angel, 
And  all  the  martyr  throng: 

The  Prince  is  ever  in  them 
The  daylight  is  serene ; 

The  pastures  of  the  blest 

Are  decked  in  glorious  sheen. 

There  is  the  throne  of  David; 

And  there  from  care  released, 
The  song  of  them  that  triumph, 
The  shout  of  them  that  feast; 
And  they,  who  with  their  Leader 
Have  conquered  in  the  fight, 
Forever  and  forever 

Are  clad  in  robes  of  white. 


THE  NATURE  OF  THE  FUTURE  LIFE 


737 


O  sweet  and  blessed  country, 
Shall  I  e’er  see  thy  face? 

O  sweet  and  blessed  country, 
Shall  I  e’er  win  thy  grace? 
Exult,  O  dust  and  ashes ! 

The  Lord  shall  be  thy  part; 
His  only,  his  forever, 

Thou  shalt  be  and  thou  art. 


DEATH  AND  RESURRECTION 
George  Croly 

Earth  to  earth,  and  dust  to  dust ! 

Here  the  evil  and  the  just, 

Here  the  youthful  and  the  old, 

Here  the  fearful  and  the  bold, 

Here  the  matron  and  the  maid, 

In  one  silent  bed  are  laid; 

Here  the  vassal  and  the  king 
Side  by  side  lie  withering; 

Here  the  sword  and  sceptre  rust : 
“Earth  to  earth,  and  dust  to  dust!” 

Age  on  age  shall  roll  along, 

O’er  this  pale  and  mighty  throng; 
Those  that  wept  them,  those  that  weep. 
All  shall  with  these  sleepers  sleep; 
Brothers,  sisters  of  the  worm, 

Summer’s  sun,  or  winter’s  storm, 

Song  of  peace,  or  battle’s  roar, 

Ne’er  shall  break  their  slumbers  more; 
Death  shall  keep  his  silent  trust : 

“Earth  to  earth,  and  dust  to  dust !” 

But  a  day  is  coming  fast, 

Earth,  thy  mightiest  and  thy  last ; 

It  shall  come  in  fear  and  wonder, 
Heralded  by  trump  and  thunder; 


738  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

It  shall  come  in  strife  and  spoil ; 

It  shall  come  in  blood  and  toil; 

It  shall  come  in  empire’s  groans, 

Burning  temples,  trampled  thrones; 

Then,  ambition,  rule  thy  lust: 

“Earth  to  earth,  and  dust  to  dust !” 

Then  shall  come  the  judgment  sign; — 

In  the  east,  the  King  shall  shine, 

Flashing  from  heaven’s  golden  gate, 
Thousands,  thousands  round  his  state, 

Spirits  with  the  crown  and  plume. 

Tremble,  then,  thou  sullen  tomb; 

Heaven  shall  open  on  our  sight, 

Earth  be  turned  to  living  light, 

Kingdoms  of  the  ransomed  just: 

“Earth  to  earth,  and  dust  to  dust !” 

Then  thy  Mount,  Jerusalem, 

Shall  be  gorgeous  as  a  gem; 

Then,  shall  in  the  desert  rise 
Fruits  of  more  than  Paradise; 

Earth  by  angel  feet  be  trod, 

One  great  garden  of  her  God; — 

Till  are  dried  the  martyrs’  tears, 

Through  a  thousand  glorious  years. 

Now  in  hope  of  him  we  trust: 

“Earth  to  earth,  and  dust  to  dust !” 


THE  SAINTS  IN  GLORY 
Dante 

From  Paradiso 

Translated  by  Henry  F.  Cary 

In  fashion  as  a  snow-white  rose,  lay  then 
Before  my  view  the  saintly  multitude, 

Which  in  his  own  blood,  Christ  espoused.  Meanwhile 


THE  NATURE  OF  THE  FUTURE  LIFE 


739 


That  other  host,  that  soar  aloft  to  gaze 
And  celebrate  his  glory,  whom  they  love, 

Hovered  around;  and,  like  a  troop  of  bees, 

Amid  the  vernal  sweets  alighting  now, 

Now,  clustering,  where  their  fragrant  labor  glows, 
Flew  downward  to  the  mighty  flower,  or  rose, 

From  the  redundant  petals,  streaming  back 
Unto  the  steadfast  dwelling  of  their  joy. 

Faces  they  had  of  flame,  and  wings  of  gold: 

The  rest  was  whiter  than  the  driven  snow ; 

And,  as  they  flitted  down  into  the  flower, 

From  range  to  range,  fanning  their  plumy  loins, 
Whispered  the  peace  and  ardor,  which  they  won 
From  that  soft  winnowing.  Shadow  none,  the  vast 
Interposition  of  such  numerous  flight 
Cast,  from  above,  upon  the  flower,  or  view 
Obstructed  aught.  For,  through  the  universe, 
Wherever  merited,  celestial  light 
Glides  freely  and  no  obstacle  prevents. 

All  there,  who  reign  in  safety  and  in  bliss, 

Ages  long  past  or  new,  on  one  sole  mark 
Their  love  and  vision  fixed.  O  trinal  beam 
Of  individual  star,  that  charm’st  them  thus ! 
Vouchsafe  one  glance  to  gild  our  storm  below. 

If  the  grim  brood,  from  arctic  shores  that  roamed 
(Where  Helice  forever,  as  she  wheels, 

Sparkles  a  mother’s  fondness  on  her  son,) 

Stood  in  mute  wonder  mid  the  works  of  Rome, 
When  to  their  view  the  Lateran  arose 
In  greatness  more  than  earthly ;  I,  who  then 
From  human  to  divine  had  passed,  from  time 
Unto  eternity,  and  out  of  Florence 
To  justice  and  to  truth,  how  might  I  choose 
But  marvel  too?  ’Twixt  gladness  and  amaze, 

I’  sooth,  no  will  had  I  to  utter  aught, 

Or  hear.  And,  as  a  pilgrim,  when  he  rests 
Within  the  temple  of  his  vow,  looks  round 
In  breathless  awe,  and  hopes  sometime  to  tell 
Of  all  its  goodly  state;  e’en  so  mine  eyes 
Coursed  up  and  down  along  the  living  light, 


740  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

Now  low,  and  now  aloft,  and  now  around, 

Visiting  every  step.  Looks  I  beheld, 

Where  charity  on  soft  persuasion  sat; 

Smiles  from  within,  and  radiance  from  above; 

And,  in  each  gesture,  grace  and  honor  high. 

So  roved  my  ken,  and  in  its  general  form 
All  Paradise  surveyed. 


THE  CELESTIAL  PILOT 
Dante 

Translated  by  Longfellow 

And  now,  behold !  as  at  the  approach  of  the  morning, 
Through  the  gross  vapors,  Mars  grows  fiery  red 
Down  in  the  west  upon  the  ocean  floor, 

Appeared  to  me, — may  I  again  behold  it ! — 

A  light  along  the  sea,  so  swiftly  coming, 

Its  motion  by  no  flight  of  wing  is  equalled. 

And  when  therefrom  I  had  withdrawn  a  little 

Mine  eyes,  that  I  might  question  my  conductor. 
Again  I  saw  it  brighter  grown  and  larger. 
Thereafter,  on  all  sides  of  it,  appeared 

I  know  not  what  of  white,  and  underneath, 

Little  by  little  there  came  forth  another. 

My  master  yet  had  uttered  not  a  word, 

While  the  first  whiteness  into  wings  unfolded; 

But  when  he  clearly  recognized  the  pilot, 

He  cried  aloud:  “Quick,  quick,  and  bow  the  knee! 
Behold  the  Angel  of  God !  fold  up  thy  hands ! 

Henceforward  shalt  thou  see  such  officers ! 

See,  how  he  scorns  all  human  arguments, 

So  that  no  oar  he  wants,  no  other  sail 

Than  his  own  wings,  between  so  distant  shores ! 

See,  how  he  holds  them  pointed  straight  to  heaven, 
Fanning  the  air  with  th’  eternal  pinions, 

That  do  not  moult  themselves  like  mortal  hair !” 


THE  NATURE  OF  THE  FUTURE  LIFE 


741 


And  then,  as  nearer  and  more  near  us  came 

The  Bird  of  Heaven,  more  glorious  he  appeared, 
So  that  the  eye  could  not  sustain  his  presence, 
But  down  I  cast  it;  and  he  came  to  shore 

With  a  small  vessel,  gliding  swift  and  light, 

So  that  the  water  swallowed  naught  thereof. 

Upon  the  stern  stood  the  Celestial  Pilot ! 

Beatitude  seemed  written  in  his  face ! 

And  more  than  a  hundred  spirits  sat  within. 

“In  exitn  Israel  de  Egypto” ! 

Thus  they  sang  together  in  one  voice 
With  whatso  in  that  Psalm  is  after  written. 

Then  made  he  sign  of  holy  rood  upon  them, 

Whereat  all  cast  themselves  upon  the  shore, 

And  he  departed  swiftly  as  he  came. 

From  VITA  NUOVA 
Dante 

Translated  by  Gabriel  Charles  Dante  Rossetti 

The  eyes  that  weep  for  pity  of  the  heart 

Have  wept  so  long  that  their  grief  languisheth 
And  they  have  no  more  tears  to  weep  withal : 

And  now,  if  I  could  ease  me  of  a  part 
Of  what,  little  by  little,  leads  to  death 
It  must  be  done  by  speech,  or  not  at  all. 

And  because  often,  thinking,  I  recall 
How  it  was  pleasant,  ere  she  went  afar, 

To  talk  of  her  with  you,  kind  damozels, 

I  talk  with  no  one  else, 

But  only  with  such  hearts  as  women’s  are 

And  I  will  say, — still  sobbing  as  speech  fails, — • 
That  she  hath  gone  to  Heaven  suddenly, 

And  hath  left  Love  below  to  mourn  with  me. 

Beatrice  is  gone  up  into  high  Heaven, 

The  kingdom  where  the  angels  are  at  peace ; 

And  lives  with  them;  and  to  her  friends  is  dead 


742  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

Not  by  the  frost  of  winter  was  she  driven 
Away,  like  others;  nor  by  summer-heats; 

But  through  a  perfect  gentleness,  instead. 

Far  from  the  lamp  of  her  meek  lowly  head 
Such  an  exceeding  glory  wrent  up  hence 
That  it  woke  wonder  in  the  eternal  sire, 

Until  a  sweet  desire 
Entered  Him  for  that  lovely  excellence, 

So  that  He  bade  her  to  Himself  aspire; 

Counting  this  weary  and  most  evil  place 
Unworthy  of  a  thing  so  full  of  grace. 

Wonderfully  out  of  the  beautiful  form 

Soar’d  her  clear  spirit,  waxing  glad  the  while; 

And  is  in  its  first  home,  there  where  it  is 
Who  speaks  thereot  and  feels  not  the  tears  warm 
Upon  his  face,  must  have  become  so  vile 
As  to  be  dead  to  all  sweet  sympathies. 

Out  upon  him!  an  abject  wretch  like  this 
May  not  imagine  anything  of  her, — 

He  needs  no  bitter  tears  for  his  relief. 

But  sighing  comes,  and  grief 
And  the  desire  to  find  no  comforter, 

(Save  only  Death,  who  makes  all  sorrow  brief,) 

To  him  who  for  a  while  turns  in  his  thought 
How  she  hath  been  among  us,  and  is  not. 

With  sighs  my  bosom  always  laboureth 
In  thinking,  as  I  do  continually, 

Of  her  for  whom  my  heart  now  breaks  apace ; 

And  very  often  when  I  think  of  death, 

Such  a  great  inward  longing  comes  to  me 
That  it  will  change  the  colour  of  my  face; 

And,  if  the  idea  settles  in  its  place, 

All  my  limbs  shake  as  with  an  ague-fit; 

(Till,  starting  up  in  wild  bewilderment, 

I  do  become  so  spent 
That  I  go  forth,  lest  folks  misdoubt  of  it. 

(Afterwards,  calling  with  a  sore  lament 
On  Beatrice,  I  ask,  “Canst  thou  be  dead?” 

And  calling  on  her,  I  am  comforted.) 


THE  NATURE  OF  THE  FUTURE  LIFE 


743 


Grief  with  its  tears,  and  anguish  with  its  sighs, 

Come  to  me  now  whene’er  I  am  alone; 

So  that  I  think  the  sight  of  me  gives  pain. 

And  what  my  life  hath  been,  that  living  dies, 

Since  for  my  lady  the  New  Birth’s  begun, 

I  have  not  any  language  to  explain. 

And  so,  dear  ladies,  though  my  heart  were  fain, 

I  scarce  could  tell  indeed  how  I  am  thus. 

All  joy  is  with  my  bitter  life  at  war; 

Yea,  I  am  fallen  so  far 
That  all  men  seem  to  say,  “Go  out  from  us,” 

Eyeing  my  cold  white  lips  how  dead  they  are 
But  she,  though  I  be  bowed  unto  the  dust, 

Watches  me ;  and  will  guerdon  me,  I  trust. 

A  gentle  thought  there  is  will  often  start, 

Within  my  secret  self,  to  speech  of  thee; 

Also  of  love  it  speaks  so  tenderly 
That  much  in  me  consents  and  takes  its  part. 

“And  what  is  this,”  the  soul  saith  to  the  heart, 

“That  cometh  thus  to  comfort  thee  and  me, 

And  thence  where  it  would  dwell,  thus  potently 
Can  drive  all  other  thoughts  by  its  strange  art?” 

And  the  heart  answers :  “Be  no  more  at  strife 
’Twixt  doubt  and  doubt:  this  is  Love’s  messenger, 
And  speaketh  but  his  words,  from  him  received; 
And  all  the  strength  it  owns  and  all  the  life 
It  draweth  from  the  gentle  eyes  of  her 

Who,  looking  on  our  grief,  hath  often  grieved.” 


MY  AIN  COUNTREE 
Mary  Lee  Demarest 

“But  now  they  desire  a  better  country,  that  is,  an  heavenly.” 

I’m  far  frae  my  hame,  an’  I’m  weary  aftenwhiles, 

For  the  langed-for  hame-bringing  an’  my  Father’s  welcome 
smiles ; 

I’ll  ne’er  be  fu’  content,  until  my  een  do  see 
The  shining  gates  o’  heaven  an’  my  ain  countree. 


744  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

The  earth  is  flecked  wi’  flowers,  mony-tinted,  fresh  an’  gay, 
The  birdies  warble  blithely,  for  my  Father  made  them  sae ; 

But  these  sights  an’  these  soun’s  will  as  naething  be  to  me, 
When  I  hear  the  angels  singing  in  my  ain  countree. 

I’ve  his  gude  word  of  promise  that  some  gladsome  day  the  King 
To  his  ain  royal  palace  his  banished  hame  will  bring: 

Wi’  een  an’  wi’  hearts  runnin’  owre  we  shall  see 
The  King  in  his  beauty  in  our  ain  countree. 

My  sins  hae  been  mony,  an’  my  sorrows  hae  been  sair, 

But  there  they’ll  never  vex  me,  nor  be  remembered  mair; 

His  bluid  has  made  me  white,  his  hand  shall  dry  mine  ee, 

When  he  brings  me  hame  at  last  to  my  ain  countree. 

Like  a  bairn  to  his  mither,  a  wee  birdie  to  its  nest, 

I  wad  fain  be  ganging  noo  unto  my  Saviour’s  breast; 

For  he  gathers  in  his  bosom,  witless,  worthless  lambs  like  me, 
An’  he  carries  them  himsel’  to  his  ain  countree. 

He’s  faithfu’  that  hath  promised,  he’ll  surely  come  again ; 

He’ll  keep  his  tryst  wi’  me,  at  what  hour  I  dinna  ken : 

But  he  bids  me  still  to  wait,  an’  ready  aye  to  be, 

To  gang  at  ony  moment  to  my  ain  countree. 

So  I’m  watchin’  aye,  an’  singin’  o’  my  hame  as  I  wait, 

For  the  soundin’  o’  his  footfa’  this  side  the  gowden  gate, 

God  gie  his  grace  to  ilka  ane  wha  listens  noo  to  me, 

That  we  may  a’  gang  in  gladness  to  our  ain  countree. 


CHARTLESS 

Emily  Dickinson 

I  never  saw  a  moor, 

I  never  saw  the  sea; 

Yet  know  I  how  the  heather  looks, 
And  what  a  wave  must  be. 


THE  NATURE  OF  THE  FUTURE  FIFE 


745 


I  never  talked  with  God, 

Nor  visited  in  heaven; 

Yet  certain  am  I  of  the  spot 
As  if  the  chart  were  given. 


THE  CHIUD’S  QUESTION 

Emily  Dickinson 

Will  there  really  be  a  morning? 

Is  there  such  a  thing  as  day? 

Could  I  see  it  from  the  mountains 
If  I  were  as  tall  as  they? 

Has  it  feet  like  water-lilies? 

Has  it  feathers  like  a  bird? 

Does  it  come  from  famous  countries 
Of  which  I  have  never  heard? 

Oh,  some  scholar,  Oh,  some  sailor, 

Oh,  some  wise  man  from  the  skies, 
Please  to  tell  a  little  pilgrim 
Where  the  place  called  morning  lies? 


O  PARADISE!  O  PARADISE! 

Frederick  William  Faber 

O  Paradise  !  O  Paradise  ! 

Who  doth  not  crave  for  rest? 

Who  would  not  seek  the  happy  land, 

Where  they  that  loved  are  blest; 

Where  loyal  hearts  and  true, 

Stand  ever  in  the  light, 

All  rapture  through  and  through, 

In  God’s  most  holy  sight? 

O  Paradise  !  O  Paradise  !  * 

The  world  is  growing  old; 

Who  would  not  be  at  rest  and  free 
Where  love  is  never  cold; 


746  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

Where  loyal  hearts  and  true 
Stand  ever  in  the  light, 

All  rapture  through  and  through, 

In  God’s  most  holy  sight? 

O  Paradise  !  O  Paradise  ! 

I  want  to  sin  no  more ; 

I  want  to  be  as  pure  on  earth 
As  on  thy  spotless  shore ; 

Where  loyal  hearts  and  true, 

Stand  ever  in  the  light, 

All  rapture  through  and  through, 

In  God’s  most  holy  sight. 

Lord  Jesus,  Light  of  Paradise, 

Shine  on  my  whole  life  long, 

In  all  earth’s  din  cause  me  to  hear 
Faint  fragments  of  that  song, 

Where  loyal  hearts  and  true, 

Stand  ever  in  the  light, 

All  rapture  through  and  through, 

In  God’s  most  holy  sight. 


VISION  OF  THE  DAY  OF  JUDGMENT 
Isaiah,  Chap.  LXIII 

From  Moulton’s  Modern  Reader's  Bible 

( Chorus  of  Watchmen ) 

Who  is  this  that  cometh  from  Edom, 

With  crimsoned  garments  from  Bozrah? 

This  that  is  glorious  in  his  apparel, 

Marching  in  the  greatness  of  his  strength? 

( He  who  cometh) 

I  that  speak  in  righteousness, 

Mighty  to  save. 


THE  NATURE  OF  THE  FUTURE  LIFE 


747 


( Chorus  of  Watchmen) 

Wherefore  art  thou  red 
In  thine  apparel, 

And  thy  garments 

Like  him  that  treadeth  in  the  winefat  ? 

(He  who  cometh ) 

I  have  trodden  the  winepress  alone ; 

And  of  the  peoples  there  was  no  man  with  me : 

Yea,  I  trod  them  in  mine  anger, 

And  trampled  them  in  my  fury ; 

And  their  lifeblood  is  sprinkled  upon  my  garments, 
And  I  have  stained  all  my  raiment. 

For  the  day  of  vengeance  was  in  mine  heart, 

And  the  year  of  my  redeemed  is  come. 

And  I  looked  and  there  was  none  to  help ; 

And  I  wondered  that  there  was  none  to  uphold : 
Therefore  mine  own  arm  brought  salvation  unto  me; 
And  my  fury,  it  upheld  me. 

And  I  trod  down  the  peoples  in  mine  anger, 

And  made  them  drunk  in  my  fury, 

And  I  poured  their  lifeblood  on  the  earth. 


GENERAL  WILLIAM  BOOTH  ENTERS  HEAVEN 

Vachel  Lindsay 


(Drums) 

Booth  led  boldly  with  his  big  bass  drum — 

( Are  you  washed  in  the  blood  of  the  Lamb?) 

The  saints  smiled  gravely,  and  they  said,  “He’s  come.” 
(Are  you  washed  in  the  blood  of  the  Lamb?) 

Walking  lepers  followed,  rank  on  rank, 

Lurching  bravoes  from  the  ditches  dank, 

Drabs  from  the  alley-ways  and  drug-fiends  pale — 
Minds  still  passion-ridden,  soul-powers  frail ! 
Vermin-eaten  saints  with  mouldy  breath 


748  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

Unwashed  legions  from  the  ways  of  death — 

( Are  you  washed  in  the  blood  of  the  Lamb?) 

(Banjos) 

Every  slum  had  sent  its  half-a-score 

The  round  world  over — Booth  had  groaned  for  more. 

Every  banner  that  the  wide  world  flies 

Bloomed  with  glory  and  transcendent  dyes. 

Big-voiced  lassies  made  their  banjos  bang! 

Tranced,  fanatical,  they  shrieked  and  sang, 

( Are  you  washed  in  the  blood  of  the  Lamb?) 

Hallelujah  !  It  was  queer  to  see 

Bull-necked  convicts  with  that  land  make  free  1 

Loons  with  trumpets  blowing  blare,  blare,  blare — 

On,  on,  upward  through  the  golden  air ! 

( Are  you  washed  in  the  blood  of  the  Lamb?) 

(Bass  drums  slower  and  softer) 

Booth  died  blind,  and  still  by  faith  he  trod, 

Eyes  still  dazzled  by  the  ways  of  God. 

Booth  led  boldly  and  he  looked  the  chief : 

Eagle  countenance  in  sharp  relief, 

Beard  a-flying,  air  of  high  command 
Unabated  in  that  Holy  Land. 

Jesus  came  out  from  the  Court-LIouse  door, 

Stretched  his  hand  above  the  passing  poor. 

(Flutes) 

Booth  saw  not,  but  led  his  queer  ones  there 
Round  and  round  the  mighty  Court-House  square. 

Yet  in  an  instant  all  that  blear  review 
Marched  on  spotless,  clad  in  raiment  new. 

The  lame  were  straightened,  withered  limbs  uncurled 
And  blind,  eyes  opened  on  a  new  sweet  world. 

(Bass  drums  louder  and  faster) 

Drabs  and  vixens  in  a  flash  made  whole ! 

Gone  was  the  weasel-head,  the  snout,  the  jowl; 


THE  NATURE  OF  THE  FUTURE  LIFE 


749 


Sages  and  sibyls  now,  and  athletes  clean, 

Rulers  of  empires,  and  of  forests  green ! 

(Grand  chorus  of  ail  instruments — Tambourines  in  the  fore¬ 
ground) 

The  hosts  were  sandalled  and  the  wings  were  fire ! — 

(Are  you  washed  in  the  blood  of  the  Lamb?) 

But  their  noise  played  havoc  with  the  angel  choir. 

(Are  you  washed  in  the  blood  of  the  Lamb?) 

O,  shout  Salvation !  It  was  good  to  see 
Kings  and  princes  by  the  Lamb  set  free. 

The  banjos  rattled  and  the  tambourines 
Jing-j  ing-jingled  in  the  hands  of  queens! 

(Reverently  sung:  no  instruments) 

And  when  Booth  halted  by  the  curb  for  prayer 
He  saw  his  Master  through  the  flag-filled  air. 

Christ  came  gently  with  a  robe  and  crown 

For  Booth  the  soldier,  while  the  throng  knelt  down. 

He  saw  King  Jesus — they  were  face  to  face, 

And  he  knelt  a-weeping  in  that  holy  place ! 

(Are  you  washed  in  the  blood  of  the  Lamb?) 


THE  LAND  O’  THE  LEAL 

Lady  Nairne 

I’m  wearin’  awa’,  John, 

Like  snaw-wreaths  in  thaw,  John, 

I’m  wearin’  awa’ 

To  the  land  o’  the  leal. 

There’s  nae  sorrow  there,  John, 
There’s  neither  cauld  nor  care,  John, 
The  day  is  aye  fair 
In  the  land  o’  the  leal. 

Our  bonnie  bairn’s  there,  John, 

She  was  baith  glide  and  fair,  John; 


750  THE  WORLD  S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

And  oh !  we  grudged  her  sair 
To  the  land  o’  the  leal ! 

But  sorrow’s  sel’  wears  past,  John, 

And  joy’s  a-comin’  fast,  John, 

The  joy  that’s  aye  to  last 
In  the  land  o’  the  leal. 

Sae  dear’s  that  joy  was  bought,  John, 

Sae  free  the  battle  fought,  John, 

That  sinfu’  man  e’er  brought 
To  the  land  o’  the  leal. 

Oh !  dry  your  glistening  ee,  John, 

My  saul  langs  to  be  free,  John, 

And  angels  beckon  me 
To  the  land  o’  the  leal. 

Oh!  haud  ye  leal  and  true,  John, 

Your  day  it’s  wearin’  through,  John, 

And  I’ll  welcome  you 
To  the  land  o’  the  leal. 

Now  fare-ye-weel,  my  ain  John, 

The  world’s  cares  are  vain,  John, 

We’ll  meet  and  we’ll  be  fain 
In  the  land  o’  the  leal. 


MY  PILGRIMAGE 

Sir  Walter  Raleigh 

Give  me  my  scallop-shell  of  quiet, 

My  staff  of  faith  to  walk  upon, 

My  scrip  of  joy,  immortal  diet, 

My  bottle  of  salvation, 

My  gown  of  glory,  hope’s  true  gage; 
And  thus  I’ll  take  my  pilgrimage ! 

Blood  must  be  my  body’s  balmer; 

No  other  balm  will  there  be  given, 
Whilst  my  soul,  like  quiet  palmer, 


THE  NATURE  OF  THE  FUTURE  LIFE 


75i 


fravelleth  toward  the  land  of  heaven, 
Over  the  silver  mountains, 

Where  spring  the  nectar  fountains. 

There  will  I  kiss 
The  bowl  of  bliss; 

And  drink  mine  everlasting  fill 
Upon  every  milken  hill 
My  soul  will  be  a-dry  before; 

But,  after,  it  will  thirst  no  more. 

Then  by  that  happy,  blissful  day, 

More  peaceful  pilgrims  I  shall  see, 

That  have  cast  off  their  rags  of  clay, 

And  walk  apparelled  fresh  like  me. 

I’ll  take  them  first, 

To  quench  their  thirst 
And  taste  of  nectar’s  suckets, 

At  those  clear  wells 
Where  sweetness  dwells, 

Drawn  up  by  saints  in  crystal  buckets. 

And  when  our  bottles  and  all  we 
Are  filled  with  immortality, 

Then  the  blessed  paths  we’ll  travel, 
Strewed  with  rubies  thick  as  gravel ; 
Ceilings  of  diamonds,  sapphire  floors, 

High  walls  of  coral,  and  pearly  bowers. 

From  thence  to  heaven’s  bribeless  hall, 
Where  no  corrupted  voices  brawl; 

No  conscience  molten  into  gold ; 

No  forged  accuser  bought  or  sold; 

No  cause  deferred,  no  vain-spent  journey, 
For  there  Christ  is  the  King’s  Attorney, 
Who  pleads  for  all,  without  degrees, 

And  he  hath  angels  but  no  fees. 

And  when  the  grand  twelve-million  jury 
Of  our  sins,  with  direful  fury, 

Against  our  souls  black  verdicts  give, 
Christ  pleads  his  death ;  and  then  we  live. 


752  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

Be  Thou  my  speaker,  taintless  Pleader ! 
Unblotted  Lawyer  !  true  Proceeder  ! 

Thou  giv’st  salvation,  even  for  alms, 

Not  with  a  bribed  lawyer’s  palms. 

And  this  is  mine  eternal  plea 

To  Him  that  made  heaven,  earth  and  sea; 

That,  since  my  flesh  must  die  so  soon, 

And  want  a  head  to  dine  next  noon, — 

Just  at  the  stroke,  when  my  veins  start 
and  spread, 

Set  on  my  soul  an  everlasting  head ! 

Then  I  am  ready,  like  a  palmer  fit, 

To  tread  those  blest  paths;  which  before  I 
writ. 

O  death  and  judgment,  heaven  and  hell, 

Who  oft  doth  think,  must  needs  die  well. 


MARVEL  OF  MARVELS 
Christina  Rossetti 

Marvel  of  marvels,  if  I  myself  shall  behold 
With  mine  own  eyes  my  King  in  his  city  of  gold; 

Where  the  least  of  lambs  is  spotless  white  in  the  fold, 

Where  the  least  and  last  of  saints  in  spotless  white  is  stoled, 
Where  the  dimmest  head  beyond  a  moon  is  aureoled. 

O  saints,  my  beloved,  now  moldering  to  mould  in  the  mould, 
Shall  I  see  you  lift  your  heads,  see  your  cerements  unrolled, 
See  with  these  very  eyes  ?  who  now  in  darkness  and  cold 
Tremble  for  the  midnight  cry,  the  rapture,  the  tale  untold, 
“The  Bridegroom  cometh,  cometh,  His  Bride  to  enfold.” 

Cold  it  is,  my  beloved,  since  your  funeral  bell  was  tolled : 

Cold  it  is,  O  my  King,  how  cold  alone  on  the  wold. 


THE  NATURE  OF  THE  FUTURE  LIFE 


753 


PARADISE 

Christina  Rossetti 

Once  in  a  dream  I  saw  the  flowers 
That  bud  and  bloom  in  Paradise ; 

More  fair  are  they  than  waking  eyes 
Have  seen  in  all  this  world  of  ours. 

And  faint  the  perfume-bearing  rose, 

And  faint  the  lily  on  its  stem, 

And  faint  the  perfect  violet, 

Compared  with  them. 

I  heard  the  songs  of  paradise; 

Each  bird  sat  singing  in  its  place; 

A  tender  song  so  full  of  grace 
It  soared  like  incense  to  the  skies. 

Each  bird  sat  singing  to  its  mate 

Soft  cooing  notes  among  the  trees : 
The  nightingale  herself  were  cold 
To  such  as  these. 

I  saw  the  fourfold  River  flow, 

And  deep  it  was,  with  golden  sand; 
It  flowed  between  a  mossy  land 
With  murmured  music  grave  and  low. 

It  hath  refreshment  for  all  thirst, 

For  fainting  spirits  strength  and  rest: 
Earth  holds  not  such  a  draught  as  this 
From  east  to  west. 

The  Tree  of  Life  stood  budding  there, 
Abundant  with  its  twelvefold  fruits; 
Eternal  sap  sustains  its  roots, 

Its  shadowing  branches  fill  the  air. 

Its  leaves  are  healing  for  the  world, 

Its  fruit  the  hungry  world  can  feed 
Sweeter  than  honey  to  the  taste 
And  balm  indeed. 


754  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

I  saw  the  Gate  called  Beautiful ; 

And  looked,  but  scarce  could  look  within; 

I  saw  the  golden  streets  begin, 

And  outskirts  of  the  glassy  pool. 

Oh  harps,  oh  crowns  of  plenteous  stars, 

Oh  green  palm-branches,  many-leaved — 
Eye  hath  not  seen,  nor  ear  hath  heard, 

Nor  heart  conceived. 

I  hope  to  see  these  things  again, 

But  not  as  once  in  dreams  by  night ; 

To  see  them  with  my  very  sight, 

And  touch  and  handle  and  attain : 

To  have  all  heaven  beneath  my  feet 

For  narrow  way  that  once  they  trod; 

To  have  my  part  with  all  the  saints 
And  with  my  God. 


UPHILL 

Christina  Rossetti 

Does  the  road  wind  uphill  all  the  way? 

Yes,  to  the  very  end. 

Will  the  day’s  journey  take  the  whole  long  day? 
From  morn  to  night,  my  friend. 

But  is  there  for  the  night  a  resting  place? 

A  roof  for  when  the  slow  dark  hours  begin. 
May  not  the  darkness  hide  it  from  my  face  ? 

You  cannot  miss  that  inn. 

Shall  I  meet  other  wayfarers  at  night? 

Those  who  have  gone  before. 

Then  must  I  knock,  or  call  when  just  in  sight? 
They  will  not  keep  you  waiting  at  that  door 

Shall  I  find  comfort,  travel-sore  and  weak? 

Of  labour  you  shall  find  the  sum. 

Will  there  be  beds  for  me  and  all  who  seek? 

Yea,  beds  for  all  who  come. 


THE  NATURE  OF  THE  FUTURE  LIFE 


755 


THE  CHERUBIC  PILGRIM 

Johannes  Scheffler,  “Silesian  Poet” 

The  soul  wherein  God  dwells, — 
What  church  could  holier  be? — 
Becomes  a  walking  tent 
Of  heavenly  majesty. 

How  far  from  here  to  Heaven? 

Not  very  far,  my  friend, 

A  single  hearty  step 

Will  all  thy  journey  end. 

Though  Christ  a  thousand  times 
In  Bethlehem  be  born, 

If  He’s  not  born  in  thee, 

Thy  soul  is  still  forlorn. 

The  cross  on  Golgotha 
Will  never  save  thy  soul, 

The  cross  in  thine  own  heart 
Alone  can  make  thee  whole. 

Hold  there !  where  runnest  thou  ? 

Know  Heaven  is  in  thee. 

Seek’st  thou  for  God  elsewhere, 
His  face  thou’lt  never  see. 

O,  would  thy  heart  but  be 
A  manger  for  His  birth ; 

God  would  once  more  become 
A  child  upon  the  earth. 

Go  out,  God  will  go  in, 

Die  thou  and  let  Him  live. 

Be  not — and  He  will  be. 

Wait  and  He’ll  all  things  give. 


7 56  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

O  shame,  a  silk  worm  works 
And  spins  till  it  can  fly, 

And  thou,  my  soul,  wilt  still 
On  thine  old  earth-clod  lie ! 


THE  LIFE  ABOVE,  THE  LIFE  ON  HIGH 

St.  Teresa 

Translated  by  Edward  Caswall 

The  life  above,  the  life  on  high, 

Alone  is  life  in  verity; 

Nor  can  we  life  at  all  enjoy, 

Till  this  poor  life  is  o’er; 

Then,  O  sweet  Death !  no  longer  fly 
From  me,  who  e’er  my  time  to  die, 
Am  dying  evermore ; 

Forevermore  I  weep  and  sigh, 

Dying,  because  I  do  not  die. 

To  him,  who  deigns  in  me  to  live, 

What  better  gift  have  I  to  give, 

O  my  poor  earthly  life,  than  thee? 

Too  glad  of  thy  decay, 

So  but  I  may  the  sooner  see 
That  face  of  sweetest  majesty, 

For  which  I  pine  away; 

While  evermore  I  weep  and  sigh, 

Dying,  because  I  do  not  die. 

Absent  from  thee,  my  Saviour  dear, 

I  call  not  life  this  living  here, 

But  a  long  dying  agony, 

The  sharpest  I  have  known; 

And  I  myself,  myself  to  see 
In  such  a  wrack  of  misery, 

For  very  pity  moan; 

And  ever,  ever,  weep  and  sigh, 

Dying  because  I  do  not  die. 


THE  NATURE  OF  THE  FUTURE  LIFE 


757 


Ah!  Lord,  my  light*  and  living  breath, 
Take  me,  Oh,  take  me  from  this  death, 
And  burst  the  bars  that  sever  me 
From  my  true  life  above! 

Think  how  I  die  thy  face  to  see, 

And  cannot  live  away  from  thee, 

O  my  eternal  Love. 

And  ever,  ever,  weep  and  sigh, 

Dying,  because  I  do  not  die. 

I  weary  of  this  endless  strife; 

I  weary  of  this  dying  life, 

This  living  death,  this  heavy  chain, 
This  torment  of  delay, 

In  which  her  sins  my  soul  detain. 

Ah !  when  shall  it  be  mine  ?  Ah !  when, 
With  my  last  breath  to  say, — 

No  more  I  weep,  no  more  I  sigh; 

I’m  dying  of  desire  to  die. 


DIES  IRAE 

Thomas  of  Celano 

Translated  by  Wentworth  Dillon 

That  day  of  wrath,  that  dreadful  day, 

Shall  the  whole  world  in  ashes  lay, 

As  David  and  the  Sibyls  say. 

What  horror  will  invade  the  mind, 

When  the  strict  Judge,  who  would  be  kind, 
Shall  have  few  venial  faults  to  find ! 

The  last  loud  trumpet’s  wondrous  sound 
Shall  through  the  rending  tombs  rebound, 
And  wake  the  nations  under  ground. 


758  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


Nature  and  death  shall,  with  surprise, 
Behold  the  pale  offender  rise, 

And  view  the  Judge  with  conscious  eyes. 

Then  shall,  with  universal  dread, 

The  sacred  mystic  book  be  read, 

To  try  the  living  and  the  dead. 

The  Judge  ascends  his  awful  throne; 
He  makes  each  secret  sin  be  known, 

And  all  with  shame  confess  their  own. 

Oh,  then,  what  interest  shall  I  make 
To  save  my  last  important  stake, 

When  the  most  just  have  cause  to  quake? 

Thou  mighty,  formidable  King, 

Thou  mercy’s  unexhausted  spring, 

Some  comfortable  pity  bring ! 

Forget  not  what  my  ransom  cost, 

Nor  let  my  dear-bought  soul  be  lost 
In  storms  of  guilty  terror  tost. 

Thou  who  for  me  didst  feel  such  pain, 
Whose  precious  blood  the  cross  did  stain, 
Let  not  these  agonies  be  in  vain ! 

Thou  whom  avenging  powers  obey, 
Cancel  my  debt,  too  great  to  pay, 

Before  the  sad  accounting  day! 

Surrounded  with  amazing  fears, 

Whose  load  my  soul  with  anguish  bears, 

I  sigh,  I  weep,  accept  my  tears ! 

Thou  who  wert  moved  with  Mary’s  grief, 

And  by  absolving  of  the  thief 

Hast  given  me  hope,  now  give  relief ! 


THE  NATURE  OF  THE  FUTURE  LIFE 


759 


Reject  not  my  unworthy  prayer; 

Preserve  me  from  the  dangerous  snare 
Which  death  and  gaping  hell  prepare. 

Give  my  exalted  soul  a  place 
Among  thy  chosen  right-hand  race, 

The  sons  of  God  and  heirs  of  grace. 

From  that  insatiable  abyss, 

Where  flames  devour  and  serpents  hiss, 
Promote  me  to  thy  seat  of  bliss. 

Prostrate  my  contrite  heart  I  rend, 

My  God,  my  Father,  and  my  Friend, 

Do  not  forsake  me  in  my  end ! 

Well  may  they  curse  their  second  breath, 
Who  rise  to  a  reviving  death : 

Thou  great  Creator  of  mankind, 

Let  guilty  man  compassion  find ! 


PEACE 

Henry  Vaughan 

My  Soul,  there  is  a  Countrie 
Afar  beyond  the  stars, 

Where  stands  a  winged  centrie 
All  skilful  in  the  wars. 

There,  above  noise  and  danger, 

Sweet  Peace  sits  crowned  with  smiles 

And  One  born  in  a  manger 
Commands  the  beauteous  files. 

He  is  thy  gracious  Friend, 

And  (O  my  soul  awake!) 

Did  in  pure  love  descend, 

To  die  here  for  thy  sake. 

If  thou  canst  get  but  thither, 

There  grows  the  flower  of  peace, 


760  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

The  Rose  that  cannot  wither, 

Thy  fortress,  and  thy  ease. 

Leave  then  thy  foolish  ranges; 

For  none  can  thee  secure 
But  One  who  never  changes — 

Thy  God,  thy  life,  thy  cure ! 


THE  WORLD 
Henry  Vaughan 

I  saw  Eternity  the  other  night, 

Like  a  great  ring  of  pure  and  endless  light, 

All  calm  as  it  was  bright ; 

And  round  beneath  it,  Time,  in  hours,  days,  years, 
Driven  by  the  spheres, 

Like  a  vast  shadow  moved,  in  which  the  world 
And  all  her  train  were  hurled. 

The  doting  lover,  in  his  quaintest  strain, 

Did  there  complain; 

Near  him  his  lute,  his  fancy,  and  his  flights, 

Wit’s  sour  delights ; 

With  gloves,  and  knots,  the  silly  snares  of  pleasure, 
Yet  his  dear  treasure, 

All  scattered  lay,  while  he  his  eyes  did  pour 
Upon  a  flower. 

The  darksome  statesman,  hung  with  weights  and  woe, 

Like  a  thick  midnight  fog,  moved  there  so  slow, 

He  did  not  stay  nor  go; 

Condemning  thoughts  (like  sad  eclipses)  scowl 
Upon  his  soul, 

And  clouds  of  crying  witnesses  without 
Pursued  him  with  one  shout. 

Yet  digged  the  mole,  and,  lest  his  ways  be  found, 
Workt  under  ground, 

Where  he  did  clutch  his  prey;  but  one  did  see 
That  policy; 

Churches  and  altars  fed  him;  perjuries 


THE  NATURE  OF  THE  FUTURE  LIFE 


Were  gnats  and  flies; 

It  rained  about  him  blood  and  tears ;  but  he 
Drank  them  as  free. 

The  fearful  miser,  on  a  heap  of  rust 

Sat  pining  all  his  life  there,  did  scarce  trust 
His  own  hands  with  the  dust; 

Yet  would  not  place  one  piece  above,  but  lives 
In  fear  of  thieves. 

Thousands  there  were,  as  frantic  as  himself, 

And  hugged  each  one  his  pelf ; 

The  downright  epicure  placed  heaven  in  sense, 
And  scorned  pretense; 

While  others,  slipt  into  a  wide  excess, 

Said  little  less; 

The  weaker  sort,  slight,  trivial  wares  enslave, 
Who  think  them  brave  ; 

And  poor  despised  Truth  sat  counting  by 
Their  victory. 

Yet  some,  who  all  this  while  did  weep  and  sing, 

And  sing  and  weep,  soared  up  into  the  ring; 

But  most  would  use  no  wing. 

“O  fools,”  said  I,  “thus  to  prefer  dark  night 
Before  true  light ! 

To  live  in  grots  and  caves,  and  hate  the  day 
Because  it  shows  the  way, — 

The  way  which,  from  this  dead  and  dark  abode. 
Leads  up  to  God; 

A  way  where  you  might  tread  the  sun  and  be 
More  bright  than  he  !” 

But,  as  I  did  their  madness  so  discuss, 

One  whispered  thus, 

“This  ring  the  Bridegroom  did  for  none  provide. 
But  for  his  Bride.” 


THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


THE  WORLD  OF  LIGHT 
Henry  Vaughan 

They  are  all  gone  into  the  world  of  light  1 
And  I  alone  sit  lingering  here; 

Their  very  memory  is  fair  and  bright, 

And  my  sad  thoughts  doth  clear; 

It  glows  and  glitters  in  my  cloudy  breast, 

Like  stars  upon  some  gloomy  grove, 

Or  those  faint  beams  in  which  this  hill  is  drest 
After  the  sun’s  remove. 

I  see  them  walking  in  an  air  of  glory, 

Whose  light  doth  trample  on  my  days; 

My  days  which  are  at  best  but  dull  and  hoary, 

Mere  glimmering  and  decays. 

* 

O  holy  Hope !  And  high  Humility, 

High  as  the  heavens  above ! 

These  are  your  walks,  and  you  have  showed  them  me, 
To  kindle  my  cold  love. 

Dear  beauteous  Death!  the  jewel  of  the  just, 

Shining  nowhere  but  in  the  dark ! 

What  mysteries  do  lie  beyond  thy  dust, 

Could  man  outlook  that  mark ! 

He  that  hath  found  some  fledged  bird’s  nest  may  know 
At  first  sight  if  the  bird  be  flown; 

But  what  fair  grove  or  dell  he  sings  in  now, 

That  is  to  him  unknown. 

And  yet,  as  angels  in  some  brighter  dreams 
Call  to  the  soul,  when  man  doth  sleep, 

So  some  strange  thoughts  transcend  our  wonted  themes, 
And  into  glory  peep. 


THE  NATURE  OF  THE  FUTURE  LIFE 

If  a  star  were  confined  into  a  tomb, 

The  captive  flames  must  needs  burn  there ; 

But  when  the  hand  that  locked  her  up,  gives  room, 
She’ll  shine  through  all  the  sphere. 

O  Father  of  eternal  life,  and  all 
Created  glories  under  Thee ! 

Resume  Thy  spirit  from  this  world  of  thrall 
Into  true  liberty. 

Either  disperse  these  mists,  which  blot  and  fill 
My  perspective  still  as  they  pass ; 

Or  else  remove  me  hence  unto  that  hill, 

Where  I  shall  need  no  glass. 


HEAVEN 
Isaac  Watts 

There  is  a  land  of  pure  delight, 
Where  saints  immortal  reign; 
Infinite  day  excludes  the  night, 
And  pleasures  banish  pain. 


There  everlasting  spring  abides, 

And  never-withering  flowers ; 

Death  like  a  narrow  sea  divides 
This  heavenly  land  from  ours. 

Sweet  fields  beyond  the  swelling  flood 
Stand  dressed  in  living  green; 

So  to  the  Jews  old  Canaan  stood, 
While  Jordan  rolled  between. 

But  timorous  mortals  start  and  shrink 
To  cross  this  narrow  sea, 

And  linger  shivering  on  the  brink, 
And  fear  to  launch  away. 


763 


764  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

Oh !  could  we  make  our  doubts  remove, 

These  gloomy  thoughts  that  rise, 

And  see  that  Canaan  that  we  love 
With  unbeclouded  eyes — 

Could  we  but  climb  where  Moses  stood, 

And  view  the  landscape  o’er, 

Not  Jordan’s  stream,  nor  death’s  cold  flood, 

Could  fright  us  from  the  shore. 


b.  THE  MODERN  CONCEPTION 

I.  There  Is  a  Future  Life ,  but  We  Do  Not  Know 
What  It  Is 


HEAVEN 
Rupert  Brooke 

Fish  (fly-replete,  in  depth  of  June, 

Dawdling  away  their  wat’ry  noon) 

Ponder  deep  wisdom,  dark  or  clear, 

Each  secret  fishy  hope  or  fear. 

Fish  say,  they  have  their  Stream  and  Pond; 
But  is  there  anything  Beyond? 

This  life  cannot  be  All,  they  swear, 

For  how  unpleasant,  if  it  were! 

One  may  not  doubt  that,  somehow,  Good 
Shall  come  of  Water  and  of  Mud; 

And,  sure,  the  reverent  eye  must  see 
A  Purpose  in  Liquidity. 

We  darkly  know,  by  Faith  we  cry, 

The  future  is  not  Wholly  Dry. 

Mud  unto  mud  ! — Death  eddies  near — 

Not  here  the  appointed  End,  not  here ! 

But  somewhere,  beyond  Space  and  Time, 

Is  wetter  water,  slimier  slime  ! 

And  there  (they  trust)  there  swimmeth  One 


THE  NATURE  OF  THE  FUTURE  LIFE 


Who  swam  ere  rivers  were  begun, 
Immense,  of  fishy  form  and  mind, 
Squamous,  omnipotent,  and  kind; 

And  under  that  Almighty  Fin, 

The  littlest  fish  may  enter  in. 

Oh !  never  fly  conceals  a  hook, 

Fish  say,  in  the  Eternal  Brook, 

But  more  than  mundane  weeds  are  there. 
And  mud,  celestially  fair; 

Fat  caterpillars  drift  around, 

And  Paradisal  grubs  are  found; 
Unfading  moths,  immortal  flies, 

And  the  worm  that  never  dies. 

And  in  that  Heaven  of  all  their  wish, 
There  shall  be  no  more  land,  say  fish. 


WHERE  LIES  THE  LAND? 

Arthur  Hugh  Clough 

Where  lies  the  land  to  which  the  ship  would  go? 
Far,  far  ahead,  is  all  her  seamen  know. 

And  where  the  land  she  travels  from?  Away, 
Far,  far  behind,  is  all  that  they  can  say. 

On  sunny  noons  upon  the  deck’s  smooth  face, 
Linked  arm  in  arm,  how  pleasant  here  to  pace ! 
Or,  o’er  the  stern  reclining,  watch  below 
The  foaming  wake  far  widening  as  we  go. 

On  stormy  nights  when  wild  northwesters  rave, 
How  proud  a  thing  to  fight  with  wind  and  wave 
The  dripping  sailor  on  the  reeling  mast, 

Exults  to  bear  and  scorns  to  wish  it  past. 

Where  lies  the  land  to  which  the  ship  would  go? 
Far,  far  ahead,  is  all  her  seamen  know. 

And  where  the  land  she  travels  from  ?  Away, 
Far,  far  behind,  is  all  that  they  can  say. 


766  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


THE  FORTUNATE  ISLES 
Joaquin  Miller 

You  sail  and  you  seek  for  the  Fortunate  Isles, 

The  old  Greek  Isles  of  the  yellow-birds’  song? 

Then  steer  straight  on  through  the  watery  miles, 

Straight  on,  straight  on,  and  you  can’t  go  wrong. 

Nay,  not  to  the  left,  nay,  not  to  the  right, 

But  on,  straight  on,  and  the  Isles  are  in  sight. 

The  Fortunate  Isles  where  the  yellow-birds  sing, 

And  life  lies  girt  with  a  golden  ring. 

These  Fortunate  Isles  they  are  not  so  far, 

They  lie  within  reach  of  the  lowliest  door; 

You  can  see  them  gleam  by  the  twilight  star; 

You  can  hear  them  sing  by  the  moon’s  white  shore. 

Nay,  never  look  back !  Those  levelled  gravestones, 

They  were  landing  steps;  they  were  steps  unto  thrones 
Of  glory  for  souls  that  have  sailed  before, 

And  have  set  white  feet  on  the  fortunate  shore. 

And  what  are  the  names  of  the  Fortunate  Isles? 

Why !  Duty  and  Love  and  a  large  Content. 

Lo !  these  are  the  Isles  of  the  watery  miles, 

That  God  let  down  from  the  firmament. 

Lo,  Duty  and  Love,  and  a  true  man’s  Trust; 

Your  forehead  to  God,  though  your  feet  in  the  dust; 

Lo,  Duty  and  Love,  and  a  sweet  babe’s  smiles, 

And  these,  O  friend,  are  the  Fortunate  Isles. 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  EVENING  MIRAGE 

Song  of  the  Sioux  Indians 

Translated  by  Dr.  A.  M.  Beede 

There’s  a  beautiful  island  away  in  the  West, 

It’s  the  land  of  evening  mirage; 

And  the  stars  and  the  spirits  of  dead  men  have  rest 
In  the  land  of  the  evening  mirage. 


THE  NATURE  OF  THE  FUTURE  LIFE 

In  the  land  of  the  evening  mirage, 

In  the  land  of  the  evening  mirage, 

Where  the  stars  and  the  spirits  of  dead  men  have  rest 
In  the  land  of  the  evening  mirage. 

The  big  man  in  the  moonlight  is  peeping  for  us, 

In  the  land  of  the  evening  mirage; 

And  the  grandmother  spirits  are  weeping  for  us 
In  the  land  of  the  evening  mirage. 

In  the  land  of  the  evening  mirage, 

In  the  land  of  the  evening  mirage, 

Where  the  grandmother  spirits  are  weeping  for  us 
In  the  land  of  the  evening  mirage. 

Speed  away,  speed  away  to  the  island  so  blest, 

To  the  land  of  the  evening  mirage, 

Where  the  spirits  of  dead  men  forever  have  rest, 

In  the  land  of  the  evening  mirage. 

In  the  land  of  the  evening  mirage, 

In  the  land  of  the  evening  mirage, 

Where  the  spirits  of  dead  men  forever  have  rest. 

In  the  land  of  the  evening  mirage. 


THE  OTHER  WORLD 
Harriet  Beecher  Stowe 

It  lies  around  us  like  a  cloud, — 

The  world  we  do  not  see; 

Yet  the  sweet  closing  of  an  eye 
May  bring  us  there  to  be. 

Its  gentle  breezes  fan  our  cheeks 
Amid  our  worldly  cares; 

Its  gentle  voices  whisper  love, 

And  mingle  with  our  prayers. 

Sweet  hearts  around  us  throb  and  beat, 
Sweet  helping  hands  are  stirred, 

And  palpitates  the  veil  between 
With  breathings  almost  heard. 


767 


768  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


The  silence — awful,  sweet,  and  calm, — 
They  have  no  power  to  break; 

For  mortal  words  are  not  for  them 
To  utter  or  partake. 

So  thin,  so  soft,  so  sweet  they  glide, 

So  near  to  press  they  seem, 

They  lull  us  gently  to  our  rest, 

And  melt  into  our  dream. 

And,  in  the  hush  of  rest  they  bring, 

’Tis  easy  now  to  see 

How  lovely  and  how  sweet  a  pass 
The  hour  of  death  may  be ! 

To  close  the  eye  and  close  the  ear, 
Wrapped  in  a  trance  of  bliss, 

And,  gently  drawn  in  loving  arms, 

To  swoon  to  that — from  this. 

Scarce  knowing  if  we  wake  or  sleep, 
Scarce  asking  where  we  are, 

To  feel  all  evil  sink  away, 

All  sorrow  and  all  care. 

Sweet  souls  around  us!  Watch  us  still, 
Press  nearer  to  our  side, 

Into  our  thoughts,  into  our  prayers, 
With  gentle  helping  glide. 

Let  death  between  us  be  as  naught, 

A  dried  and  vanished  stream; 

Your  joy  be  the  reality, 

Our  suffering  life  the  dream. 


THE  NATURE  OF  THE  FUTURE  LIFE  769 


DAREST  THOU  NOW,  O  SOUL? 

Walt  Whitman 
Darest  thou  now,  O  Soul, 

Walk  out  with  me  toward  the  Unknown  Region, 

Where  neither  ground  is  for  the  feet,  nor  any  path  to  follow? 

No  map,  there,  nor  guide, 

Nor  voice  sounding,  nor  touch  of  human  hand, 

Nor  face  with  blooming  flesh,  nor  lips,  nor  eyes,  are  in  that 
land. 

I  know  it  not,  O  Soul ; 

Nor  dost  thou,  all  is  a  blank  before  us, — 

All  waits,  undreamed  of,  in  that  region — that  inaccessible  land. 

Till,  when  the  tie  is  loosened, 

All  but  the  ties  eternal,  Time  and  Space, 

Nor  darkness,  gravitation,  sense,  nor  any  bounds  bound  us. 

Then  we  burst  forth,  we  float, 

In  Time  and  Space,  O  Soul!  prepared  for  them; 

Equal,  equipped  at  last  (O  joy !  O  fruit  of  all!)  them  to  fulfill, 
O  Soul ! 

THE  IMPRISONED  SOUL 
Walt  Whitman 

At  the  last,  tenderly 

From  the  walls  of  the  powerful  fortressed  house, 

From  the  clasp  of  the  knitted  locks — from  the  keep  of  the  well- 
closed  doors, 

Let  me  be  wafted. 

Let  me  glide  noiselessly  forth ; 

With  the  key  of  softness  unlock  the  locks — with  a  whisper 
Set  ope  the  doors,  O  soul ! 


770  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 

Tenderly!  be  not  impatient! 

(Strong  is  your  hold,  O  mortal  flesh! 

Strong  is  your  hold,  O  Love ! ) 


2.  We  Are  the  Builders  of  the  City 


HAIL!  THE  GLORIOUS  GOLDEN  CITY 

Felix  Adler 

Hail  the  glorious  Golden  City, 

Pictured  by  the  seers  of  old ! 

Everlasting  light  shines  o’er  it, 
Wondrous  tales  of  it  are  told: 

Only  righteous  men  and  women 
Dwell  within  its  gleaming  wall ; 

Wrong  is  banished  from  its  borders, 
Justice  reigns  supreme  o’er  all. 

We  are  builders  of  that  city; 

All  our  joys  and  all  our  groans 

Help  to  rear  its  shining  ramparts ; 

All  our  lives  are  building  stones : 

Whether  humble  or  exalted, 

All  are  called  to  task  divine; 

All  must  aid  alike  to  carry 
Forward  one  sublime  design. 

And  the  work  that  we  have  budded, 

Oft  with  bleeding  hands  and  tears, 

And  in  error  and  in  anguish, 

Will  not  perish  with  our  years: 

It  will  last  and  shine  transfigured 
In  the  final  reign  of  Right ; 

It  will  merge  into  the  splendors 
Of  the  City  of  the  Light. 


THE  NATURE  OF  THE  FUTURE  LIFE 


771 


HOME  AT  LAST 

Gilbert  K.  Chesterton 

To  an  open  house  in  the  evening, 

Home  shall  men  come, 

To  an  older  place  than  Eden, 

And  a  taller  town  than  Rome. 

To  the  end  of  the  way  of  the  wandering  star, 
To  the  things  that  cannot  be  and  that  are, 

To  the  place  where  God  was  homeless, 

And  all  men  are  at  home. 


BUGLE  SONG  OF  PEACE 

Thomas  Curtis  Clarke 

Blow,  bugle,  blow ! 

The  day  has  dawned  at  last, 

Blow,  blow,  blow ! 

The  fearful  night  is  past, 

The  prophets  realize  their  dreams, 
Lo !  in  the  east  the  glory  gleams. 
Blow,  bugle,  blow ! 

The  day  has  dawned  at  last. 

Blow,  bugle,  blow ! 

The  soul  of  man  is  free. 

The  rod  and  sword  of  king  and  lord 
Shall  no  more  honored  be ; 

For  God  alone  shall  govern  men, 
And  love  shall  come  to  earth  again. 
Blow,  bugle,  blow ! 

The  soul  of  man  is  free. 

Blow,  bugle,  blow ! 

Though  rivers  run  with  blood, 

All  greed  and  strife,  and  lust  for  life, 


THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


Are  passing  with  the  flood. 

The  gory  beast  of  war  is  cowed; 

The  world’s  great  heart  with  grief  is  bowed. 
Blow,  bugle,  blow ! 

The  day  has  dawned  at  last. 


STAINS 

Theodosia  Garrison 

The  three  ghosts  on  the  lonesome  road, 
Spake  each  to  one  another, 

“Whence  came  that  stain  about  your  mouth 
No  lifted  hand  may  cover?” 

“From  eating  of  forbidden  fruit, 

Brother,  my  brother.” 

The  three  ghosts  on  the  sunless  road 
Spake  each  to  one  another, 

“Whence  came  that  red  burn  on  your  foot 
No  dust  or  ash  may  cover?” 

“I  stamped  a  neighbor’s  hearth-flame  out, 
Brother,  my  brother.” 

The  three  ghosts  on  the  windless  road 
Spake  each  to  one  another, 

“Whence  came  that  blood  upon  your  hand 
No  other  hand  may  cover?” 

“From  breaking  of  a  woman’s  heart, 
Brother,  my  brother.” 

“Yet  on  the  earth  clean  men  we  walked, 
Glutton  and  Thief  and  Lover; 

White  flesh  and  fair  it  hid  our  stains 
That  no  man  might  discover.” 

“Naked  the  soul  goes  up  to  God, 

Brother,  my  brother.” 


THE  NATURE  OF  THE  FUTURE  LIFE 


773 


THE  TRUE  HEAVEN 

Paul  Hamilton  Hayne 

The  bliss  for  which  our  spirits  pine, 

That  bliss  we  feel  shall  yet  be  given, 
Somehow  in  some  far  realm  divine 
Some  marvellous  state  we  call  a  heaven, 

Is  not  the  bliss  of  languorous  hours 
A  glory  of  calm  measured  range, 

But  life  which  feeds  our  noblest  powers 
On  wonders  of  eternal  change. 

A  heaven  of  action,  freed  from  strife, 

With  ampler  ether  for  the  scope 
Of  an  unmeasurable  life 

And  an  unbaffled  boundless  hope. 

A  heaven  wherein  all  discords  cease 
Self-torment,  doubt,  distress,  turmoil, 

The  care  of  whose  majestic  peace 
Is  god-like  power  of  endless  toil. 

Toil  without  tumult,  strain  or  jar, 

With  grandest  reach  of  range  indeed, 
Unchecked  by  even  the  farthest  star 
That  trembles  through  infinitude ; 

In  which  to  soar  to  higher  heights 

Through  widening  ethers  stretched  abroad, 
Till  in  our  onward,  upward  flights 
We  touch  at  last  the  feet  of  God. 

Time  swallowed  in  eternity 
No  future  evermore :  no  past, 

But  one  unending  NOW,  to  be 
A  boundless  circle  around  us  cast ! 


774  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


THE  CONTINUING  CITY 

Laurence  Housman 

God,  who  made  man  out  of  dust, 
Willed  him  to  be 
Not  to  known  ends,  but  to  trust 
His  decree. 

This  is  our  city,  a  soul 
Walled  within  clay; 

Separate  hearts  of  one  whole, 
Bound  we  obey. 

All  that  He  meant  us  to  be, 

Could  we  discern, — 

Life  had  no  meaning, — or  we 
Had  not  to  learn. 

Thou,  beloved,  doubt  not  the  truth 
Eyesight  makes  dim ! 

All  life,  to  age  from  youth, 

Brings  us  to  Him: 

Him  Whom  thou  hast  not  seen, 
Canst  not  yet  know : 

Human  hearts  stand  between, 

His  to  foreshow. 

Couldst  thou  possess  thine  own, 
That  were  the  key ; 

He,  to  Whom  hearts  are  known. 
Keeps  it  from  thee. 

Thou  alLthy  days  must  live, 
Thyself  the  quest; 

Plucking  the  heart  to  give 
From  thine  own  breast. 


THE  NATURE  OF  THE  FUTURE  LIFE 


775 


Till  thou,  from  other  eyes, 

At  kindred  calls, 

Seest  thine  own  towers  arise, 
And  thine  own  walls, — 

Where,  conquering  the  wide  air, 
Peopling  its  waste, 

Citadels  everywhere 
Like  stars  stand  based: 

Losing  thy  soul,  thy  soul 
Again  to  find; 

Rendering  toward  that  goal 
Thy  separate  mind. 


THE  SPIRES  OF  OXFORD 

Winifred  M.  Letts 

I  saw  the  spires  of  Oxford 
As  I  was  passing  by, 

The  grey  spires  of  Oxford 
Against  a  pearl-grey  sky; 

My  heart  was  with  the  Oxford  men 
Who  went  abroad  to  die. 

The  years  go  fast  in  Oxford, 

The  golden  years  and  gay, 

The  hoary  colleges  look  down 
On  careless  boys  at  play. 

But  when  the  bugles  sounded  war 
They  put  their  games  away. 

They  left  the  peaceful  river, 

The  cricket-field,  the  Quad, 

The  shaven  lawns  of  Oxford 
To  seek  a  bloody  sod — 

They  gave  their  merry  youth  away 
For  country  and  for  God. 


THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


^  r 

77  j 

God  rest  you,  happy  gentlemen, 
Who  laid  your  good  lives  down, 
Who  took  the  khaki  and  the  gun, 
Instead  of  cap  and  gown. 

God  bring  you  to  a  fairer  place 
Than  even  Oxford  town. 


THE  DAY  IS  COMING 
William  Morris 

Come  hither  lads  and  hearken,  for  a  tale  there  is  to  tell, 

Of  the  wonderful  days  a’coming,  when  all  shall  be  better  than 
well. 

And  the  tale  shall  be  told  of  a  country,  a  land  in  the  midst  of 
the  sea, 

And  folk  shall  call  it  England  in  the  days  that  are  going  to  be. 

There  more  than  one  in  a  thousand  in  the  days  that  are  yet  to 
come, 

Shall  have  some  hope  of  the  morrow,  some  joy  of  the  ancient 
home. 

For  then — laugh  not,  but  listen,  to  this  strange  tale  of  mine, 

All  folk  that  are  in  England  shall  be  better  lodged  than  swine. 

Then  a  man  shall  work  and  bethink  him,  and  rejoice  in  the 
deeds  of  his  hand, 

Nor  yet  come  home  in  the  even  too  faint  and  weary  to  stand. 

Men  in  that  time  a’coming  shall  work  and  have  no  fear 

For  to-morrow’s  lack  of  earning  and  the  hunger-wolf  anear. 

I  tell  you  this  for  a  wonder,  that  no  man  then  shall  be  glad 

Of  his  fellow’s  fall  and  mishap  to  snatch  at  the  work  he  had. 

For  that  which  the  worker  winneth  shall  then  be  his  indeed, 

Nor  shall  half  be  reaped  for  nothing  by  him  that  sowed  no  seed. 


THE  NATURE  OF  THE  FUTURE  LIFE 


777 

O  strange  new  wonderful  justice!  But  for  whom  shall  we 
gather  the  gain? 

For  ourselves  and  for  each  our  fellows,  and  no  hand  shall 
labour  in  vain. 

Then  all  Mine  and  all  Thine  shall  be  Ours,  and  no  more  shall 
any  man  crave 

For  riches  that  serve  for  nothing  but  to  fetter  a  friend  for  a 
slave. 

And  what  wealth  then  shall  be  left  us  when  none  shall  gather 
gold 

To  buy  his  friend  in  the  market,  and  pinch  and  pine  the  sold? 

Nay,  what  save  the  lovely  city,  and  the  little  house  on  the  hill, 

And  the  wastes  and  the  woodland  beauty,  and  the  happy  fields 
wc  till ; 

And  the  homes  of  ancient  stories,  the  tombs  of  the  mighty  dead ; 

And  the  wise  men  seeking  out  marvels,  and  the  poet’s  teeming 
head ; 

And  the  painter’s  hand  of  wonder;  and  tin  marvellous  fiddle- 
bow, 

And  the  banded  choirs  of  music:  all  those  that  do  and  know. 

For  all  these  shall  be  ours  and  all  men’s,  nor  shall  any  lack  a 
share 

Of  the  toil  and  the  gain  of  living  in  the  days  when  the  world 
grows  fair. 

•  •••••••• 

Come,  then,  let  us  cast  off  fooling,  and  put  by  ease  and  rest, 

For  the  cause  alone  is  worthy  till  the  good  days  bring  the  best. 

Come,  join  the  only  battle  wherein  no  man  can  fail, 

Where  whoso  fadeth  and  dieth,  yet  his  deed  shall  still  prevail. 

Ah !  come,  cast  off  all  fooling,  for  this,  at  least,  we  know : 

That  the  Dawn  and  the  Day  is  coming,  and  forth  the  Banners 

gc. 


778  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


THE  CITY  OF  GOD 

Francis  Turner  Palgrave 

O  Thou  not  made  with  hands, 
Not  throned  above  the  skies, 

Nor  wall’d  with  shining-  walls, 

Nor  framed  with  stones  of  price, 
More  bright  than  gold  or  gem, 
God’s  own  Jerusalem! 

Where’er  the  gentle  heart 
Finds  courage  from  above; 
Where’er  the  heart  forsook 
Warms  with  the  breath  of  love; 
Where  faith  bids  fear  depart, 
City  of  God !  thou  art. 

Thou  art  where’er  the  proud 
In  humbleness  melts  down ; 

Where  self  itself  yields  up; 

Where  martyrs  win  their  crown; 
Where  faithful  souls  possess 
Themselves  in  perfect  peace. 

Where  in  life’s  common  ways 
With  cheerful  feet  we  go; 

When  in  His  steps  we  tread 
Who  trod  the  way  of  woe ; 

Where  He  is  in  the  heart, 

City  of  God !  thou  art. 

Not  throned  above  the  skies, 

Nor  golden-wall’d  afar, 

But  where  Christ’s  two  or  three 
In  His  name  gather’d  are, 

Be  in  the  midst  of  them, 

God’s  own  Jerusalem! 


THE  NATURE  OF  THE  FUTURE  LIFE 
THE  HUMAN  OUTLOOK 


779 


John  Addington  Symonds 

These  things  shall  be !  A  loftier  race 

Than  e’er  the  world  hath  known  shall  rise 
With  flame  of  freedom  in  their  souls, 

And  light  of  knowledge  in  their  eyes. 

They  shall  be  gentle,  brave  and  strong, 

To  spill  no  drop  of  blood,  but  dare 
All  that  may  plant  man’s  lordship  firm 
On  earth  and  fire,  and  sea,  and  air. 

Nation  with  nation,  land  with  land, 

Unarmed  shall  live  as  comrades  free; 

In  every  heart  and  brain  shall  throb 
The  pulse  of  one  fraternity. 

New  arts  shall  bloom  of  loftier  mould 
And  mightier  music  thrill  the  skies, 

And  every  life  shall  be  a  song 
When  all  the  earth  is  paradise. 

These  things — they  are  no  dreams — shall  be 
For  happier  men  when  we  are  gone; 

Those  golden  days  for  them  shall  dawn, 
Transcending  aught  we  gaze  upon. 


THE  FAR  LAND 

John  Hall  Wheelock 

We  are  sighing  for  you,  far  land — 

We  are  praying  for  you,  far  land, 

All  our  life  long,  working,  waiting,  night  and  day: 

But  as  the  waves  that  die  to  reach  the  farther  shore 
Break  our  hearts  that  die  to  reach  you  evermore — 

All  our  hearts  are  breaking,  breaking  toward  that  shore, 
O  far  land,  so  near  and  far  away ! 


780  THE  WORLD’S  GREAT  RELIGIOUS  POETRY 


At  the  lips  of  the  beloved, 

At  the  breast  of  the  beloved, 

Like  waves  that  seek  the  land,  and  sink  forlorn — 

O  to  reach  it  we  have  died,  but  to  that  beach 
Where  the  beloved  is,  love  may  not  reach ! 

Our  children’s  children  even  shall  not  reach 
The  far  land  where  all  of  us  were  born. 

Through  the  terror  of  the  ages 
We  have  sought  it,  till  the  ages 
Have  stamped  our  lifted  faces  with  our  love : 

But  long  though  we  have  wandered,  where  we  are 
The  far  land  is  not.  O  that  land  is  far ! 

Beyond  the  night,  beyond  the  morning  star 
The  far  land  grows  farther  as  we  move. 

In  music  and  in  story, 

In  song  and  sacred  story 
We  yearned  to  it,  in  color  and  in  sound: 

But  swifter  than  the  soul  the  secret  flies, 

The  vision  pales — beyond,  beyond  it  lies, 

Beyond  all  songs,  beyond  all  harmonies, 

The  far  land  that  we  have  never  found. 

In  the  sweat  of  daily  labor 
In  the  anguish  of  our  labor 
We  strove  to  bind  it  fast  in  steel  and  stone: 

But  lo — the  walls  were  dust,  the  work  was  naught, 
And  O  it  was  not  what  the  heart  had  sought ! 

’Twas  something  dearer  than  our  blood  had  bought — 
The  far  land  that  we  have  never  known. 

So  we  built  ourselves  a  heaven, 

Our  God  we  set  in  heaven, 

With  prayer  and  praise  we  wrought  them  to  our  will: 

But  they  could  not  fill  the  measure  of  our  love 
For  the  far  land — O  they  were  not  great  enough ! 
There  is  nothing,  there  is  nothing  great  enough ! 

The  far  land  is  something  greater  still. 


THE  NATURE  OF  THE  FUTURE  LIFE  781 


We  are  sighing  for  you,  far  land— 

We  are  dying  for  you,  far  land, 

In  the  trenches,  in  the  bloody  ruck  and  blind, 

We  are  coming,  we  are  coming,  every  breath 
Is  a  wave  that  bears  us  nearer  to  you,  death 
Seals  our  cry — O  might  our  children  find  ere  death 
The  far  land  that  we  have  died  to  find ! 


THE  END. 


INDEX  OF  TITLES 


A 


Abide  with  Me  . 

Abou  Ben  Adhem  . 

Abt  Vogler  . 

Adam’s  Hymn  in  Paradise  .  . . 

Adam’s  Morning  Hymn . 

Adeste  Fideles  . 

Adjustment  . 

Adonais,  From  . 

Adoration  . 

Adrift  . 

After  Death  in  Arabia  . 

Age  is  Great  and  Strong,  The 

Agnosto  Theo  . 

All  Fellows,  From  . 

A  Lost  God,  From  . 

A  Lost  Word  of  Jesus . 

America  the  Beautiful . 

Among  the  Ferns  . 

Ancient  Sage,  The  . 

Ancient  Thought,  The  . 

Angel  of  Patience,  The . 

Athalie,  Chorus  from  . 

At  Last  . 

Attainment  . 

Attainment  . . 

At  the  Aquarium  . 

At  the  End  of  Things . 

At  the  Worst  . 

Auguries  of  Innocence  . 

Auld  Lang  Syne  . 

Aurora  Leigh,  From . 

Autumn  . . 

Awake,  My  Soul!  . 

Awakened  War  God,  The  .... 
Awakening  of  Man,  The  .... 
Away  . . 


PAGE 


Henry  Lyte .  535 

Leigh  Hunt  .  616 

Robert  Browning  .  107 

Van  Vondel  .  508 

John  Milton  .  509 

Anonymous  .  519 

John  G.  Whittier  .  203 

Percy  B.  Shelley  .  689 

Madame  Guy  on  .  512 

Mrs.  Edward  Dowden  .  .  190 

Edwin  Arnold  .  663 

Victor  Hugo  ( Robertson )  382 

Thomas  Hardy  .  149 

Laurence  Housman  ....  3 72 

Francis  W .  Bourdillon.  .  2 

Henry  van  Dyke  .  354 

Katharine  Lee  Bates....  559 

Edward  Carpenter .  255 

Alfred  Tennyson .  202 

Watson  Kerr  .  232 

John  G.  Whittier  . 585 

Jean  B.  Racine  .  51 1 

John  Greenleaf  Whittier.  694 

Madison  Cawein  .  603 

Ella  Wheeler  Wilcox  . .  606 

Max  Eastman  .  59 

Arthur  Edward  Waite  ..  51 

Israel  Zangwill  .  177 

William  Blake  .  263 


John  White  Chadwick  .  .  671 

Elis.  Barrett  Browning..  105 
Rabindranath  Tagore  ..  245 


Philip  Doddridge  .  520 

Margaret  Widdcmer  ....  173 

Robert  Browning  .  30 

James  W.  Riley  .  688 


783 


784 


INDEX  OF  TITLES 


B 

Ballad  of  Trees  and  the  Master,  A  . Sidney  Lanier  .... 

Bard,  The  . William  Blake  . . . 

Barter  . Margaret  Widdemer 

Battle  Hymn  . Gnstavus  Adolphus 

Battle  Hymn  of  the  Republic  . Julia  Ward  Howe  . 

Before  Action  . William  Noel  Hodgson 

Before  Day  . Siegfried  Sassoon  . 

Beginnings  of  Faith,  The  . Sir  Lewis  Morris  . 

Bohemian  Hymn,  The  . Ralph  W.  Emerson 

Boston  Hymn  . Ralph  W.  Emerson 

Brahma  . Ralph  W .  Emerson 

Brahma,  the  World  Idea  . Rig-Veda,  X,  129  (£. 

dian,  1500  B.C .) 

Brand  Speaks  . Hendrik  Ibsen  . . , 

Brightest  and  Best  of  the  Sons  of  the  Morning. .  Reginald  Heber  ... 
Bugle  Song  of  Peace  . Thomas  Curtis  Clark 


In 


c 

Caliban  upon  Setebos  . 

Call  Me  Not  Dead  . 

Calm  Soul  of  All  Things . 

Calvary  . 

Canticle  of  the  Sun  . 

Cattle  of  His  Hand,  The  . 

Celestial  Pilot,  The  . 

Celestial  Surgeon,  The  . 

Chariot,  The  . 

Chartless  . 

Cherubic  Pilgrim,  The  . 

Cherubim,  From  the  . 

Child  of  Loneliness  . 

Children  of  the  Heavenly  King  . 

Child’s  Evening  Hymn  . 

Child’s  Question,  The  . 

Christian  Life,  The  . 

Christian  Pilgrim’s  Hymn,  The  . 

Christmas  Hymn,  A  . 

Christ,  the  Man  . 

Church,  The  . 

Church,  The  . . . . .  . . 

Church’s  One  Foundation,  The  . 

Church  Today,  The  . 

Church  Universal,  The  . 

City,  The  . 

City,  The  . 

City,  The  . 


Robert  Browning  . 

Richard  W.  Gilder  . 

Matthew  Arnold  . 

Edwin  A.  Robinson  .  . . . 
St.  Francis  of  Assisi  . . . . 
Wilbur  Underwood  .... 
Dante  ( Longfellow )  .... 
Robert  Louis  Stevenson. 

Emily  Dickinson  . 

Emily  Dickinson  . 

Johannes  Schefder . 

Thomas  Heywood . 

Norman  Gale  . 

John  Cennick  . 

Sabine  Baring-Gould  .  . 

Emily  Dickinson  . 

Samuel  Longfellow  .... 

William  Williams  . 

Alfred  Domett  . 

William  Henry  Davies  .  . 

Edwin  Ford  Piper  . 

Jules  Romain  ( Bithell ) .  . 

Samuel  J.  Stone  . 

William  Watson  . 

Samuel  Longfellow  .  .  .  . 
Frank  Mason  North  .  . . 
George  Wm.  Russell  ( A . 

E.)  . 

Israel  Zangwill  . 


PAGB 


2S3 

2 

417 

504 

644 

450 

78 

197 

128 

378 

191 

83 

130 

525 

771 


III 

677 

388 

350 

494 

69 

740 

583 

672 

744 
755 
291 

34 

517 
546 

745 
594 

518 
321 
346 
398 
400 
532 
405 
556 
56i 

390 

393 


INDEX  OF  TITLES  785 


City  Church,  The  . 

City  of  God  . 

City  of  God,  The  . 

City’s  Crown,  The  . . . 

Cleansing  Fires  . 

Come,  Thou  Almighty  King  . 

Come,  Ye  Disconsolate  . 

Common  Inference,  A . 

Communion  . 

Comrade  Jesus  . 

Conclusion,  The  . 

Confession,  A  . 

Consider  the  Lilies  . 

Continuing  City,  The  . 

Coronation  . 

Cotter’s  Saturday  Night,  The  . 

Country  Faith,  The  . 

Courage  . 

Courage  . 

Cranmer’s  Prophecy  of  Queen  Elizabeth 

(From  Henry  VIII)  . 

Credo  . 

Creed,  A  . 

Creed,  A  . 

Creed,  My  . * . 

Creed,  My  « . 

Creeds  . 

Crossing  the  Bar  . . . . 

Crucifixion  . 

Cry  of  the  Age,  The  . 

Cui  Bono?  . . . 


PAGE 


E.  H.  K .  397 

Samuel  Johnson .  540 

Francis  T.  Palgrave  ....  778 

Dudley  Foulke  .  390 

Adelaide  A.  Proctor  ....  580 

Charles  Wesley  .  520 

Thomas  Moore  .  596 

Charlotte  P.  Gilman  ....  147 

John  B.  Tabb  ... .  135 

Sarah  N.  Cleghorn .  345 

Sir  Walter  Raleigh  ....  688 

Paul  Verlaine  ( Symons )  429 

Wm.  C.  Gannett  .  258 

Laurence  Housman  ....  774 

Edward  Perronet  .  522 

Robert  Burns  .  385 

Norman  Gale  .  250 

Stopford  Brooke  .  586 

Paul  Gerhardt  .  593 


William  Shakespeare  ...  383 

Edwin  A.  Robinson  ....  40 


Norman  McLeod  .  639 

John  Masefield  .  716 

Alice  Cary  .  636 

Jeannette  Gilder  .  637 

Karle  Wilson  Baker  ....  635 

Alfred  Tennyson  .  693 

Eva  Gore  Booth  .  343 

Hamlin  Garland  .  441 

Thomas  Carlyle  .  587 


D 

Dance  Chant,  A  (tr.  by  Parker)  . 

Dance  Chant,  A  (tr.  by  Brinton)  . 

Darest  Thou  Now,  O  Soul . 

Day  is  Coming,  The  . 

Day  is  Dying  in  the  West,  The  . 

Dead,  The  . 

Dead,  The  . . . 

Dead  Faith,  The  . 

Death  . 

Death  . . 

Death  . 

Death  . 

Death  and  Resurrection  . . 

Deep  Sea  Soundings  . . 

Deer’s  Cry,  The . 

De  Profundis  . . . 

Desire  . . 


Iroquois  Indians  . 
Osage  Indians  .  . . 
Walt  Whitman  .., 
William  Morris  . 
Mary  A.  Lathbury 
Mathilde  Blind  . . . 
Robert  Nichols  .  .  . 
Fanny  Heaslip  Lea 
Maltbie  Babcock  .  , 
Rupert  Brooke  .  . 
Emily  Dickinson  . 
James  Oppenheim  , 
George  Croly 
Sarah  Williams  .  .  , 

St.  Patrick  . . 

From  the  Bible  . . 
Matthew  Arnold  . , 


555 

457 

769 

776 

55-2 

696 

723 

212 

670 

698 

673 

685 

737 

730 

485 

480 

419 


786 


INDEX  OF  TITLES 


Dies  Irae  . 

Disguises  . 

Divine  Image,  The  . 

Divine  Love  . 

Domine  Quo  Vadis?  . 

Donkey,  The  . 

Doubt  . 

Doubt  . 

Doubt  (From  In  Memoriam,  XCVI)  .... 

Doubter’s  Prayer,  The  . 

Dream,  The  . 

Dream  Fantasy  . 

Dreams  Old  and  Nascent  (From  Amores) 

Dryad  Song  . 

Dust  . 

Dwelling  Place,  The  . 


E 

Each  and  All  . . 

Each  in  His  Own  Tongue  . 

Earliest  Christian  Hymn  of  . 

Easter  Chorus  from  Faust  . . 

East  London  . . 

Ecce  Homo  . . 

Elixir,  The  . 

End  of  Being,  The . . 

Envoi . 

Epigram  . 

Epitaph  . 

Epitaph  . 

Epitaph,  The  . 

Essay  on  Man,  From  the . 

Eternal  Goodness  . 

Eternal  Light!  . 

Even  This  Shall  Pass  Away  . 

Everlasting  Arms,  The  (Psalm  XCI)  .  . 

Everlasting  Mercy,  From  the  . 

Excellency  of  Christ  . 

Exile  from  God  . . 

Excursion,  From  the  . 

Expectans  Epectavi  . 


F 


PAGE 


.  Thomas  of  Celano  .  7 57 

Thomas  Edward  Brown.  220 

,  William  Blake  .  284 

Charles  Wesley  .  515 

,  William  Watson  .  335 

Gilbert  K.  Chesterton .  .  .  268 

Fernand  Gregh  .  194 

. Helen  Hunt  Jackson  ....  197 

Alfred  Tennyson  .  42 

Anne  Bronte  .  186 

Firdausi  .  6 

William  Sharp  ( Fiona 

Macleod )  728 

D.  H.  Lawrence  .  152 

Margaret  Fuller .  677 

George  Wm.  Russell 

(A.  E .)  240 

Henry  Vaughan  .  307 

Ralph  W.  Emerson .  102 

,  William  Herbert  Carruth  145 
Clement  of  Alexandria .  .  478 

Goethe  .  323 

Matthew  Arnold  .  388 

Witter  Bynner  .  143 

George  Herbert  .  442 

Seneca  .  85 

,  John  G.  Neihardt  .  414 

,  William  Watson  .  80 

Louise  Driscoll  .  706 

George  MacDonald .  455 

Katharine  Tynan  Hinkson  229 

.Alexander  Pope .  105 

John-  G.  Whittier .  205 

Thomas  Binney  .  527 

.  Theodore  Tilton  .  598 

.Moulton’s  Modern  Read¬ 
ers’  Bible  .  575 

John  Masefield  . .  718 

.  Giles  Fletcher  .  323 

.John  Hall  Wheelock  ....  730 

.William  Wordsworth  ...  141 

,  Charles  Hamilton  Sorley  605 


Failures  . 

Fairest  Lord  Jesus 
Faith  . 


Arthur  W.  Upson 

Anonymous  . 

Wm.  D.  Hoivells 


59  2 

505 

19G 


INDEX  OF  TITLES 


Faith  . 

Faith  . . 

Faith  . 

Faith  . 

Faith  on  Trial,  From  A  ........ 

Falconer  of  God,  The  . 

Far  Cry  to  Heaven,  A . . 

Far  Land,  The  . . 

Farmers  . . . 

Fate  of  the  Prophets,  The  . 

Feet  . . 

Festal  Song  . . 

Final  Mystery,  The  . 

Finished  Course,  The  . 

Fire  Bringer,  From  the  . 

Flower  in  the  Crannied  Wall  .  . 

Flying  Wheel,  The  . . 

Fool’s  Prayer,  The  . . 

Forbearance  . . 

Forever  . . 

For  Forgiveness . . . 

For  Inspiration  . 

Fortunate  Isles,  The  . 

Founts  of  Song,  The  . 

Fragment  . 

Fragment  . 

Fragment  . 

From  Greenland’s  Icy  Mountains 

Fulfillment  . . 

Funeral  Hymn  . 


G 

Garden,  The  . . 

Garden  of  God  . 

General  William  Booth  Enters  Heaven  .  . 

Generous  Creed,  A  . 

Genius  . 

Gifts  . 

Gitanjali,  From . 

Give  Way!  . 

Gloria  in  Excelsis  . 

Glorious  Things  of  Thee  Are  Spoken  .  . . 

Gloucester  Moors,  From  . 

God  . 

God  . 

God  (from  Dawn)  . 


787 

PAGE 


Alexander  Pope  .  198 

George  Santayana  .  216 

John  B.  Tabb .  200 

John  G.  Whittier  .  204 

‘George  Meredith  .  215 

William  Rose  Benet  ....  55 

Edith  M.  Thomas  .  415 

John  Hall  Wlieelock .  779 

William  A.  Percy  .  250 

Henry  W.  Longfellow  ..  11 

Mary  Carolyn  Davies.  . .  34 

William  Pierson  Merrill.  564 

Sir  Henry  Newbolt .  722 

St.  Joseph  of  the  Studinm  491 
William  Vaughn  Moody.  238 

Alfred  Tennyson  .  263 

Katharine  Tynan  Hinkson  183 

Edward  R.  Sill  .  427 

Ralph  W.  Emerson  .  .  .  .  224 

John  Boyle  O’Reilly  .  . .  686 

John  Donne  .  453 

Michelangelo  Buonarotti 

( Wordsworth )  452 

Joaquin  Miller  .  766 

William  Sharp  ( Fiona 

Macleod )  .  24 

William  Cowper  .  4 

Amy  Lowell  .  22 

Henry  Vaughan  .  245 

Reginald  Heber  .  526 

Wm.  A.  Muhlenberg  ....  528 

Wm.  Walsham  Howe  . .  .  542 


Rose  Parkwood  .  261 

George  William  Russell.  .  392 

Vachel  Lindsay  .  747 

Eliz.  Stuart  Phelps  ....  641 

Edward  Lucas  White  ...  26 

Emma  Lazarus .  422 

Rabindranath  Tagore ,  165,  303 

Charlotte  P.  Gilman .  148 

Anonymous  .  480 

John  Newton  .  523 

William  Vaughn  Moody.  >647 

Gamaliel  Bradford  .  57 

James  Cowden  Wallace..  135 
Harold  Monro  .  156 


788 


INDEX  OF  TITLES 


God  Is  at  the  Anvil  . 

God  Is  Not  Dumb  . 

God  Makes  a  Path  . 

God  of  the  Living,  The  . 

God  Our  Father  . 

God  Prays  . 

God-Maker,  Man,  The  . 

God-Seeking  . 

God’s  Funeral  . 

God’s  Garden  . 

God’s  Pity  . 

God  the  Architect  . 

God,  You  Have  Been  Too  Good  to  Me 

Good  Bishop,  A  . 

Good-bye,  Proud  World  . 

Good  Company  . 

Good  Parson,  The . 

Gospel  of  Labor,  The  . 

Gradatim  . 

Grammarian’s  Funeral,  A  . 

Great  Breath,  The  . 

Great  Man,  The  . 

Grief  and  God  . 

Guard  of  the  Sepulcher,  A  . 


Lew  Sarett  . 

James  Russell  Lowell  . . 

Roger  Williams  . 

John  Ellerton  . 

Frederick  W.  Faber  .  . . . 

Angela  Morgan  . 

Don  Marquis  . 

William  Watson . 

Thomas  Hardy  . 

Richard  Burton  . 

Louise  Driscoll  . 

Harry  Kemp  . 

Charles  Wharton  Stork.. 
Anonymous  ( tr .  Taylor ). 
Ralph  W.  Emerson  . . . . 
Karle  Wilson  Baker  .  . .  . 
Chaucer  (tr.  Leonard )  .  . 

Henry  van  Dyke . 

Josiah  G.  Holland . 

Robert  Browning  . 

George  Wm.  Russell  ( A.E .) 

Eunice  Tietjens . 

Stephen  Phillips  . 

Edwin  Markham  . 


H 


Habeas  Corpus  . 

Hail  Man !  . 

Hail,  the  Glorious  Golden  City  . 

Happiest  Heart,  The  . 

Happy  Life,  The  . 

Happy  Tree,  The  . 

Harp  of  Sorrow,  The  . 

Harps  Hung  Up  in  Babylon  . 

Harvest  . 

Harvest  Home  . 

Have  Faith  . 

Health  of  Body  Dependent  on  Soul  . 

Heaven  . 

Heaven  . 

Heavens  Above  and  the  Law  Within,  The 

(Psalm  XIX)  . 

He  Did  Not  Know  . 

He  Leadeth  Me  . 

He  Whom  a  Dream  Hath  Possessed  . 

Heretic,  The  . 

Hidden  Weaver,  The  . 

Hierarchie  of  the  Blessed  Angel  . 


Helen  Hunt  Jackson  .  . .  . 

Angela  Morgan  . 

Felix  Adler  . 

John  Vance  Cheney 

Sir  Henry  Wotton  . 

Gerald  Gould  . 

Ethel  Cliffords . 

Arthur  Colton  . 

Eva  Gore  Booth . 

Henry  Alford  . 

Edward  Carpenter . 

Jones  Very  . 

Rupert  Brooke  . 

Isaac  Watts  . 

Moulton’s  Modern 

Readers'  Bible  . 

Harry  Kemp  . 

Joseph  H.  Gilmore  . 

Sheamas  O  Sheel  . 

Bliss  Carman  . 

Odell  Shepard  . 

Thomas  Heywood  . 


PAGE 
241 
22 
185 
675 
536 
411 
154 
53 
149 
255 
588 
21 1 
448 
356 
224 

251 

363 

392 

77 

70 

240 

354 

572 

349 


709 
298 
77  o 

619 

612 

251 

597 

626 

285 

534 

209 

308 

764 

763 

271 

679 

538 

23 

222 

162 

35 


INDEX  OF  TITLES 


Higher  Catechism,  The . Sam  Walter  Foss. 

Higher  Pantheism,  The . Alfred  Tennyson  . 

Highway,  The  . Win.  C.  Gannett., 

Hill,  The  . Horace  Holley  ... 


789 

PAGE 

73 

...  202 

...  370 

...  38 

Hills  of  Rest,  The . Albert  Bigelow  Paine...  726 

His  Banner  over  Me . Gerald  B.  Massey .  571 

Holy  Nativity  of  Our  Lord  God,  The . Richard  Crashaw  .  317 

Holy  of  Holies,  The . Gilbert  K.  Chesterton...  258 

Home  at  Last . Gilbert  K.  Chesterton...  771 

Hope  Evermore  and  Believe . Arthur  Hugh  Clough....  189 

Hope  of  the  World,  The . William  Watson  .  167 

Hora  Christi  . Alice  Brown  .  219 

Host  of  Sennacherib,  The . Lord  Byron  .  377 

Hound  of  Heaven,  The . Francis  Thompson  .  45 

House  by  the  Side  of  the  Road,  The . Sam  Walter  Foss .  620 

How  Firm  a  Foundation . K.,  in  Rippon’s  Selec¬ 
tions  .  524 

How  Shall  We  Rise  to  Greet  the  Dawn? . Osbert  Sitwell  .  163 

How  to  the  Singer  Comes  the  Song? . Richard  W.  Gilder .  8 

Human  Outlook,  The . John  Addington  Symonds  779 

Hymn  . . Martin  Luther  .  498 

Hymn  . St.  Thomas  Aquinas .  495 

Hymn  . St.  Francis  Xavier .  500 

Hymn,  A  . The  Venerable  Bede....  487 

Hymn  before  Sunrise  in  the  Vale  of  Chamounix.S'amMc/  Taylor  Coleridge  274 

Hymn  of  Man,  From  the . A.  C.  Swinburne .  300 

Hymn  of  Sivaite  Puritans . Anonymous  .  492 

Hymn  of  the  World  Within  (Psalm  CIII) ....  Moulton’s  Modern 

Readers’  Bible  .  287 

Hymn  of  the  World  Without  (Psalm  CIV) ...  .Moulton’s  Modern 

Readers’  Bible  .  227 

Hymn  to  Amen  Ra,  the  Sun  God . Anonymous  (Egyptian)..  468 

Hymn  of  Heavenly  Beauty,  From . Edmund  Spenser  .  98 

Hymn  to  Marduk  (Two  Selections) . From  Assyrian  . 463,  464 

Hymn  to  St.  Teresa . . Richard  Crashaw .  364 

Hymn  to  Zeus . AEschylus  .  473 

Hymn  to  Zeus . Cleanthes  (Plumptre) .  .  .  433 


If  All  the  Skies . 

If  This  Were  Faith . 

Illusion  . : . 

Image  of  God,  The . 

Immanence  . 

Immortal  . 

Immortality,  Job  XIV,  1-12;  XIX,  25-27 

Immortalitv  . 


Henry  van  Dyke .  584 

Robert  Louis  Stevenson .  199 

Ella  Wheeler  Wilcox....  140 
Francisco  de  Aldana....  90 

Richard  Hovey  .  230 

Sara  Teasdale  .  692 

( From  Moulton's  Modern 

Readers’  Bible)  . 71 1-7 12 

Richard  Henry  Dana....  703 


INDEX  OF  TITLES 


790 

PAGE 

Immortality  . . George  Wm.  Russell  (A. 

E .)  . . .  689 

Immortal  Mind,  The  . Lord  Byron  .  701 

Impercipient,  The  . Thomas  Hardy .  396 

Imprisoned  Soul,  The  . Walt  Whitman  .  769 

Incomprehensible,  The  . Isaac  Watts  .  184 

In  Dark  Hour  . Seumas  MacManus  .....  595 

Indian  upon  God,  An  . William  B.  Yeats  ......  174 

Indwelling  God,  The  . . Frederick  L.  Hosmer  . . .  294 

Inevitable,  The  . Sarah  K.  Bolton  .  586 

Informing  Spirit,  The  . Ralph  W.  Emerson .  286 

In  Him  . James  Vila  Blake  ......  283 

In  Memoriam,  From  (Proem)  . Alfred  Tennyson  .  200 

In  Memoriam,  From  (CXXIV)  . Alfred  Tennyson  .  304 

Inner  Light,  The  . F.  W.  H.  Myers  .  132 

In  No  Strange  Land . Francis  Thompson .  44 

Inspiration  . Wilfrid  W.  Gibson .  7 

Inspiration  . Samuel  Johnson .  20 

Inspiration  . Solomon,  Ode  VI,  of..  475 

Inspiration  . John  B.  Tabb  .  14 

Inspiration  . Henry  D.  Thoreau  .  25 

Inspiration,  An  . Ella  Wheeler  Wilcox  ..  656 

Inspirations  . ....William  James  Dawson.  6 

In  the  City  . Israel  Zangwill  .  393 

In  the  Cross  of  Christ  I  Glory . John  Bowring  .  527 

In  the  Dawn  . Odell  Shepard .  650 

In  the  Garden  of  the  Lord . Helen  Keller  .  373 

In  the  Hospital  . Arthur  Guiterman .  210 

Introversion  . Evelyn  Underhill  .  305 

Invictus  . William  E.  Henley  . .  . .  588 

Invisible,  The  . Richard  W .  Gilder .  272 

Invocation  . Max  Eastman  .  438 

Invocation,  An  . John  Addington  Symonds  133 

Inward  Light,  The  . Henry  Septimus  Sutton..  444 

Io  Victis  . William  Wetmore  Story.  590 

Irrevocable  . Mary  W.  Plummer  ....  625 

I  See  His  Blood  upon  the  Rose  . Joseph  Mary  Plunkett .  .  262 

I  Seek  Thee  in  the  Heart  Alone  . Sir  Herbert  Trench  ....  304 

I  Went  Down  into  the  Desert  to  Meet  Elijah ...Vachel  Lindsay  . .  62 


J 

Jehovah  . 

Jerusalem,  My  Happy  Home . 

Jerusalem,  the  Golden  . 

Jesus,  Lover  of  My  Soul  . 

Jesus  Shall  Reign  Where’er  the  Sun  .  . . 

Jesus,  Thou  Joy  of  Loving  Hearts . 

Jew  to  Jesus,  The  . 

Job’s  Comforters.  Job  XI,  7-8 . 


Israel  Zangwill  . 

Anonymous  . . . 

Bernard  of  Cluny  . 

Charles  Wesley  . 

Isaac  Watts  . 

Bernard  of  Clairvaux  .  . . 
Florence  Kiper  Frank  .  . 
From  Moulton’s  Modern 
Readers’  Bible)  . 


175 

735 

736 
516 
5i3 
494 
347 

62 


INDEX  OF  TITLES 


791 

PAGE 


Karshish,  the  Arab  Physician  . Robert  Browning  .  . 

Kings  of  the  East,  The  . Katherine  Lee  Bates 


310 

342 


Lamb,  The  . William  Blake  .  264 

Land  of  the  Evening  Mirage,  The . Sioux  Indians  .  766 

Land  o’  the  Leal,  The  . Lady  Nairne .  749 

Larger  Hope,  The  (from  In  Memoriam,  LVI )..  Alfred  Tennyson  .  43 

Larger  Prayer,  The  . Eanah  D.  Cheney  .  421 

Last  Lines . Emily  Bronte  .  697 

Latest  Decalogue,  The  . Arthur  Hugh  Clough  ...  395 

L’Envoi  . Rudyard  Kipling  .  715 

Leper,  The  . Nathaniel  P.  Willis .  338 

Let  Us  with  a  Gladsome  Mind . John  Milton  .  507 

Life  . Margaret  Deland .  285 

Life  Above,  the  Life  on  High,  The . St.  Teresa " .  756 

Lift  Up  Your  Heads,  Rejoice!  . Thomas  D.  Lynch .  537 

Light  from  Within,  'The  . Jones  Very  .  309 

Lillium  Regis  . Francis  Thompson  .....  405 

Lines  Composed  a  Few  M-iles  Above  Tintern 

Abbey  . William  W ordswortli  . . .  247 

Litany  for  Latter  Day  Mystics . Cale  Young  Rice  .  427 

Little  Bird  I  Am,  A  . Madame  Guyon  .  182 

Little  Song  of  Life,  A  . . Lisette  W.  Reese  .  590 

Living  God,  The  . Charlotte  P.  Gilman  ...  128 

Living  Temple,  The  . Oliver  W.  Holmes  .  292 

Longing  for  Home  . Jean  Ingelow  .  677 

Lost  and  Found  . George  MacDonald  .  39 

Lost  Chord,  The  . Adelaide  A.  Proctor  ....  576 

Lost  God,  From  a  . Francis  W.  Bourdillon..  2 

Lost  Word  of  Jesus,  A  . Henry  van  Dyke  . 354 

Love  of  God,  The  . Bernard  Rascas  .  86 

Love’s  Vision-  . Edward  Carpenter .  387 

Lycidas  . John  Milton  .  680 


Madonna  Natura  . 

Magnificat  . 

Majesty  and  Mercy  of  God,  The 

Majesty  of  God,  The  . 

Manufactured  Gods  . 

Man  with  the  Hoe,  The  . 

Margaritae  Sorori  . 

Marlborough,  From  . 

Marshes  of  Glynn,  The . 

Marvel  of  Marvels  . 

Mary’s  Girlhood  . 


M 

. . William  Sharp  ( Fiona 

Macleod )  . 

. Anonymous  . 

. Sir  Robert  Grant  . 

. Thomas  Sternhold  ...... 

. . Carl  Sandburg  . 

. Edwin  Markham  . 

. William  E.  Henley  . 

. Charles  Hamilton  Sorley. 

. Sidney  Lanier  . . 

. Christina  Rossetti  . 

. Gabriel  Charles  Dante 

Rossetti  . 


241 

481 

104 

99 

161 

375 
72  5 
80 
233 
752 

335 


792 


INDEX  OF  TITLES 


Master  Singers,  The . 

Mastery  . 

Meditations  of  a  Hindu  Prince . 

Men  Told  Me,  Lord . 

Milton,  From  . 

Milton’s  Prayer  for  Patience . 

Missing  . 

Morning  Hymn  . 

Morning  Light  Is  Breaking,  The . 

Music  . 

My  Ain  Countree., . 

My  Birth  . 

My  Creed  . 

My  Creed  . 

My  Dead  . 

My  Faith  . 

My  Faith  Looks  Up  to  Thee . 

My  Garden  . 

My  Hereafter  . 

My  Minde  to  Me  a  Kingdom  Is........ 

My  Own  Hereafter . 

My  Pilgrimage  . 

Mystery,  The  . 

Mystic,  The  . 

Mystic  as  Soldier,  A . 

Mystic  Song,  A . . 

Mystic’s  Prayer,  The . 

My  Uninvited  Guest . 

N 

Nameless  Saints,  The . 

Nanak  and  the  Sikhs,  From  (E.  Indian) 

Nautilus,  The  Chambered . 

Nearer  Home  . 

Nearer,  My  God,  to  Thee . 

New  England  Church,  A . •  • 

New  God,  The..... . . . 

New  God,  The . 

New  Heart,  The . 

New  Victory,  The . 

Nodes  . 

Not  in  Dumb  Resignation . 

Now  and  Afterwards . 

Now  the  Labourer’s  Task  Is  O’er . 

Nunc  Dimittis  . 

O 

Obedience  . 

Ocean,  The  (Psalm  CVII) . 


Rhys  Carpenter  . 

Sara  Teas  dale  . . 

Sir  Alfred  Lyall . 

David  Starr  Jordan . 

William  Blake  . 

Elizabeth  L.  Howell . 

Anonymous  . 

Gregory  the  Great . 

Samuel  F.  Smith . 

Ralph  Waldo  Emerson... 

Mary  Lee  Demarest . 

Minot  J.  Savage . 

Alice  Cary  . 

Jeanette  Gilder  . 

Frederick  L.  Hosmer .  . .  . 
Sri  Ananda  Acharya.... 

Ray  Palmer  . 

Thomas  Edward  Brown. 

Juniata  dc  Long . 

Sir  Edward  Dyer . 

Eugene  Lee-Hamilton  .  . 

Sir  Walter  Raleigh . 

Ralph  Hodgson  . 

Cale  Young  Rice . 

Siegfried  Sassoon  . 

Anonymous  . 

William  Sharp  ( Fiona 

Macleod )  . 

May  Riley  Smith . 

Edward  Everett  Hale.  .  . 

Anonymous  . 

Oliver  Wendell  Holmes.. 

Phoebe  Cary  .  .  .' . 

Sarah  Flower  Adams.... 
Wilson  Agnew  Barrett.. 

Witter  Bynner  . 

,  James  Oppenheim  . 

, Modern  Chinese  . 

.Margaret  Widdemer  .... 
.Alice  Corbin  Henderson . 

.John  Hay  . 

.Dinah  Mulock  Craik.... 

.  John  Ellerton  . 

.  Anonymous  . 

.George  MacDonald  . 

.Moulton’ s  Modern 

Readers’  Bible  . 


PAGH 
1 6 
42 

63 

712 

614 

19 

695 

487 

530 

225 

743 

689 

636 

637 
709 
208 
529 
254 
704 
610 
716 
750 

77 

66 

161 

506 

444 

580 


631 

497 

604 

570 

533 

394 

144 

160 

554 

655 

290 

556 

703 

549 

481 


632 

278 


INDEX  OF  TITLES 


793 


PAGE 

O  Day  of  Rest  and  Gladness . Christopher  Wordsworth .  541 

Ode  in  May . William  Watson  .  246 

Ode  to  Duty . William  Wordsworth  ...  634 

Ode,  Intimations  of  Immortality,  From . William  Wordsworth  ...  731 

CEdipus  Rex,  Chorus  from . Sophocles  .  474 

Of  an  Old  Song . Wm.  E.  H.  Lecky .  10 

Of  an  Orchard . Katharine  Tynan  Hinkson  252 

Of  One  Self-Slain . Charles  Hanson  Towne..  693 

Oh  God,  Our  Help  in  Ages  Past . Isaac  Watts  .  514 

Oh,  May  I  Join  the  Choir  Invisible . George  Eliot  .  707 

O  Little  Town  of  Bethlehem . Phillips  Brooks  .  547 

O  Love  That  Wilt  Not  Let  Me  Go . George  Matheson  .  553 

O  Master,  Let  Me  Walk  with  Thee . Washington  Gladden  ...  553 

O  Mother  Dear,  Jerusalem . “F.  B.  P.” .  503 

O  Paradise!  O  Paradise! . F.  W.  Faber .  745 

O  Thou  Eternal  One! . Dersliavin  ( Bowring )  ...  435 

O  Why  Should  the  Spirit  of  Mortal  Be  Proud  ?.  William  Knox  .  621 

Omnia  Exeunt  in  Mysterium . George  Sterling  .  729 

Omnipresence  . Edward  Everett  Hale...  229 

On  the  Morning  of  Christ’s  Nativity . John  Milton  .  327 

Onward,  Christian  Soldiers . Sabine  Baring-Gould  ...  544 

Opportunity  . Edward  Rowland  Sill...  625 

Ordeal  by  Fire,  From  the . Clarence  E.  Stedman...  582 

Other  World,  The . . . Harriet  Beecher  Stowe..  767 

Our  Dead  . . Robert  Nichols  .  723 

Our  Master  . John  G.  Whittier .  543 

Out  in  the  Fields  with  God . E.  B.  Brozvning .  249 

Over-Heart,  The  . John  G.  Whittier .  138 

Over  the  Great  City . Edward  Carpenter  .  389 


P 

Pagan  Prayer  . 

Paradise  . 

Passage  to  India,  From . 

Path  of  the  Stars,  The . 

Pauline,  From  . 

Peace  .  . . 

Peace  . 

Peace,  Perfect  Peace . . . 

Peaks,  The  . 

Peasant  Poet,  The . 

Penitential  Psalm,  From  (two  selections) 

Pilgrim,  The  . 

Pilgrim  Fathers,  The . 

Pilgrim’s  Song  . 

Pilgrim’s  Song,  The  (Psalm  CXXI) . 

Pillar  of  the  Cloud,  The . 

Pippa  Passes,  Song  from . 


Alice  Brown  .  421 

Christina  Rossetti  .  753 

Walt  Whitman  .  136 

Thomas  S.  Jones,  Jr....  273 

Robert  Browning  .  29 

Rupert  Brooke  .  698 

Henry  Vaughan  .  759 

Edward  H.  Bickersteth .  .  551 

Stephen  Crane  .  409 

John  Clare  .  3 

Babylonia  (2000?  B.C .) 

. 465,  467 

Richard  Wightman  .  629 

Leonard  Bacon  .  531 

Bernard  Ingemann  .  545 

Moulton’ s  Modern 

Readers’  Bible  .  576 

John  Henry  Newman...  443 
Robert  Browninz  .  221 


794 


INDEX  OF  TITLES 


Pisgah  . Willard  Wattles . 

Place  of  Rest,  The . George  Russell  (A.  E.)  . . 

Plan  of  Salvation,  The  (From  Paradise  Lost) ..  .John  Milton  . 

Ploughman,  The  . Karle  Wilson  Baker  .... 

Poet,  From  The  . Ralph  W.  Emerson . 

Poet,  The  . . Joel  Benton  . 

Poet,  The  . E.  B.  Browning . 

Poet,  The  . Witter  Bynner  . 

Poet,  The  . . Amy  Lowell  . 

Poet,  The  . Edward  Markham  . 

Poet,  The  . . . Angela  Morgan  . 

Poet,  The  . Yone  Noguchi . 

Poetry  . Ella  Heath  . 

Poets  . Joyce  Kilmer  . 

Poet’s  Call,  The  . Thomas  Curtis  Clark  . . . 

Poet’s  Prayer,  The  . Stephen  Phillips . 

Poet’s  Simple  Faith,  The  . .  . Victor  Hugo  . 

Prayer  . Gilbert  K.  Chesterton  . . . 

Prayer  . Thomas  Ellwood  . 

Prayer  . Harry  Kemp  . 

Prayer  (From  Idylls  of  the  King)  . Alfred  Tennyson . 

Prayer  . . . Richard  C.  Trench  . 

Prayer  . Louis  Untermyer . 

Prayer  . Henry  van  Dyke . 

Prayer  . Thomas  Washburne  .... 

Prayer,  A  . John  Drinkwater . 

Prayer,  A  . William  Dean  Howells... 

Prayer,  A  . . . Edwin  Markham  . 

Prayer,  The  (In  Memoriam,  CXXXI)  . Alfred  Tennyson . 

Prayer  before  Execution . Mary  Queen  of  Scots  ... 

Prayer  for  Pain  . John  G.  Neihardt . 

Prayer  for  Rain  . Kalevala  ( From  Finnish) 

Prayer  in  Prospect  of  Death,  A  . . . Robert  Burns  . 

Prayer  of  Columbus  . Walt  Whitman  . 

Prayer  of  the  Peoples,  A  . Percy  Mackaye  . 

Prayer  to  the  Mountain  Spirit  . Navajo  Indians  ( Cronyn ) 

Present,  The  . Adelaide  A.  Proctor  .... 

Present  Crisis,  The  . James  Russell  Lowell  .  . 

Priest  or  Poet  . *. . Shane  Leslie . 

Problem,  The  . Ralph  W.  Emerson . 

Prometheus  Bound,  The  Wail  of  .  AEschylus  (E.  B.  Brown¬ 
ing)  . 

Proofs  of  Buddha’s  Existence  . Anonymous  . 

Prophet,  The  . Alexander  Pushkin  . 

Prospice  . Robert  Brozvning  . 

Providence  . Cale  Young  Rice . 

Providence  . iWilliam  Cowper  . 

Psalm  of  the  Early  Buddhist  Sisters,  A  . Buddhist  Sisters . 

Psalm  XIX  . Joseph  Addison  . 


PAGE 

585 

726 

93 

568 

225 

1 

3 

345 

1 1 

12 

23 

13 
9 
9 

4 

424 

196 

449 

422 

447 

414 

416 

458 

429 

416 

440 

447 

254 

438 

439 
456 
454 
439 
458 
45i 
456 

643 

642 
398 
1 7 

569 

84 

13 

670 

300 

181 

3i 

270 


INDEX  OF  TITLES 


Psalms  XXIII,  XXVII,  XCIII  . Moulton’s  Modern 

Readers’  Bible  . 

Pygmalion  . Hilda  Doolittle  .  . 


795 

TAGB 

91-93 

146 


Question  Whither,  The 


Q 


George  Meredith 


720 


R 


Rabbi  ben  Ezra  . 

Reality  . 

Reality  . 

Reality  . 

Realization  . 

Real  Presence  . 

Rebel,  The  (From)  . 

Recessional  . 

Redeemer,  The  . 

Redeemer,  The  . 

Refuge,  The  (Psalm  XLVI)  . 

Refracted  Lights  . 

Religio  Laici  (From)  . . 

Religion  and  Doctrine  . 

Religious  Musings  . 

Rendezvous,  The  . 

Renunciation  . 

Reply  of  Socrates  . 

Republic,  The  . 

Requiem  . 

Resolve  . . . 

Restless  Heart,  The  . . 

Resurgam  . 

Resurgam  . 

Revelation  . 

Revelation  . 

Right  Use  of  Prayer,  The  . 

Rise,  Crowned  with  Light,  Imperial  Salem 

Rise !  . . . 

Ritual  Not  Religion  . 

Rocked  in  the  Cradle  of  the  Deep . 

Rock  of  Ages  . 

Rubaiyat,  The  (Two  selections  from)  . 

Rugby  Chapel  . 


Robert  Browning . 

Sir  Aubrey  de  V ere  .... 
Frances  R.  Havergal  .  .  . 

Angela  Ad organ  . 

Sri  Ananda  Acharya  ... 

Ivan  Adair  . 

Irene  Rutherford  McLeod 

Rudyard  Kipling  . 

Siegfried  Sassoon  . 

William  Sharp  ( Fiona 

Macleod )  . 

Moulton’ s  Modern 

Readers’  Bible  . 

Celia  Parker  Wooley  .... 

John  Dry  den  . 

John  Hay  . 

Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge 

Alan  Seeger  . 

Mark  Wilks  Call . 

Edith  M.  Thomas . 

Henry  W.  Longfellow  . . 
Robert  Louis  Stevenson .  . 
Charlotte  P.  Gilman  .... 

Marat  ha  Saints  . 

Anonymous  . 

Emily  Dickinson  . 

Alice  Brown . 

Edwin  Markham  . 

Sir  Aubrey  de  V ere  .... 

Alexander  Pope  . 

Telugu  (E.  Indian )  .... 
Emma  Willard  . 

■  Augustus  M.  Toplady... 

■  Omar  Khayyam  ( Fitz¬ 

gerald  . 60, 

.Matthezv  Arnold  . 


357 

126 

325 

158 

613 

283 

212 

558 

352 

133 

574 

54 

iox 

637 

100 

727 

i45 

633 

646 

729 

630 

509 

661 

674 

220 

40 

410 

5i3 

642 

279 

521 

7i3 

665 


S 

Saints  in  Glory,  The . Dante  (Cary)  . 

Salutation  to  Jesus  Christ  . John  Calvin  . 

Saul  . Robert  Browning  . 

Say  Not  the  Struggle  Naught  Availeth  . Arthur  Hugh  Clough  .  .  . 


738 

501 

119 

700 


796 


INDEX  OF  TITLES 


PAGE 

Scotch  Te  Deum . 

502 

Search,  The  . 

•  •  • 

33 

Search,  The  (Psalm  XLII)  , 

Readers’  Bible  . . . . 

50 

Searcher  of  Hearts  Is  Thy 

Maker,  The 

(Psalm 

CXXXIX)  . 

Readers’  Bible  .  .  . . 

289 

Second  Crucifixion  . 

•  •  • 

347 

Second  Seeing  . 

324 

Secret  Garden,  The  . 

260 

Seeds  . 

686 

Seeker,  The  . 

•  . 

142 

Seekers,  The  . . 

66 

Seekers,  The  . 

79 

Seekers,  The  . . 

68 

Seeking  God  . , 

34 

Self-Dependence  . 

607 

Sense  and  Spirit  . 

215 

Servants,  The  . 

629 

Shepherd  Boy  Sings,  The 

619 

Silence  . 

•  .  • 

276 

Sleep,  The  . 

723 

Smooth  Divine,  The  . 

369 

Some  Blesseds  . . . 

640 

Some  Keep  Sunday  Going 

to  Church... 

223 

Song  Making  . 

15 

Song  of  a  Heathen,  The.  .  , 

323 

Song  of  Derivations,  A.  .  .  . 

721 

Song  of  Doubt,  A  . 

195 

Song  of  Faith,  A  . 

195 

Song  of  Myself  (Two  selections)  (From 

Leaves 

of  Grass)  . . 

.269, 

309 

Song  of  the  Unsuccessful, 

The . 

615 

Songs  of  Kabir  (E.  Indian) 

(Two  Selections) ...  Kabir  ( Tagore )  . 

29s 

Songs  of  the  Birds,  The... 

•  •  • 

267 

Song  to  David  . . 

95 

Sonnet  on  His  Blindness  . 

597 

Sonnets,  From  (Two  Selections) . 

213 

Sons  of  Martha,  The  . 

617 

Sorrow  . 

•  •  • 

577 

Sorrow  . 

598 

Sorrow  . 

596 

Sorrows  Humanize  Our  Race.. . 

578 

Soul’s  Bitter  Cry,  The.  .  . 

•  •  • 

488 

Soul’s  Errand,  The . 

648 

Sovereign  Poet,  The  . 

15 

Sovereign  Poets . 

12 

Spires  of  Oxford,  The.... 

,  , 

775 

INDEX  OF  TITLES 


797 

PAGE 

Stabat  Mater  . Jacobus  de  Benedictis . . .  483 


Stains  . 

772 

Stream  of  Faith,  The... 

193 

Strength,  Love,  Light.  . 

493 

Strip  of  Blue,  A . 

236 

Stupid  Old  Body,  The.. 

608 

Substitution  . 

568 

Sun-Day  Hymn,  A . 

539 

Supersensual  . 

.306 

Supreme  Sacrifice,  The. 

567 

Te  Deum  Laudamus.  .  . 

1 

482 

Tears  . 

590 

Test  of  Manhood,  From 

the. . . . 

131 

Thanatopsis  . 

696 

Thanksgiving  to  God,  A 

445 

That  Holv  Thing . 

327 

The  Lord  God  Planted  a 

Garden 

259 

Theophany  . 

307 

The  Poet  . 

I 

There  Is  a  Green  Hill  Far  Away, 

536 

There  Is  No  Unbelief... 

188 

They  Went  Forth  to  Battle  but 

They 

Always 

Fell  . 

589 

There  Were  Ninety  and 

Nine .  . .  . 

548 

Thirst  . .  .  .  .  , 

674 

Thou  Art  Coming . 

550 

Thou  Art  of  All  Created 

1  Things, 

S06 

Thought  . 

5 

Thrice  Holy  . 

529 

Thy  Kingdom  Come . 

557 

Thy  Kingdom  Come,  0 

Lord. . . , 

560 

Thy  Kingdom,  Lord,  We 

:  Long  For .... 

561 

Tide  of  Faith,  The . 

190 

Tiger,  The  . . 

265 

’Tis  Sorrow  Builds  the 

Shining 

Ladder 

Up.  .  .James  Russell  Lowell.  . .  . 

579 

To  a  Contemporary  Bunkshooter. 

350 

To  a  Daisy . 

260 

To  a  Dog . 

268 

To  a  Sacred  Cow . 

454 

To  a  Waterfowl . 

266 

Today  . 

623 

To  Finde  God  . 

61 

To  God  . 

183 

To  Night  . 

694 

To  the  Brave  Soul . 

589 

To  The  Christians  . 

342 

To  The  Christians  . 

614 

To  the  Ocean  (From  Childe  Harold’s  Pilgrimage) Lord  Byron  . 

277 

798 


INDEX  OF  TITLES 


To  Truth  . 

Tragedy  of  Pompey  the  Great,  The 

Transcendence  . . 

Traveller,  A  . 

Trees  . 

Trees  and  the  Chaff,  The  (Psalm  I) 

Troubadour  of  God,  The  . 

True  Heaven,  The . 

True  Knowledge  . 

Truth  . 

Two  Mysteries  . 

Two  Prayers  . . 


PAGE 

Solomon,  Ode  XXXVIII  of  4 77 


John  Masefield  .  718 

Richard  Hovey  .  231 

Anonymous  .  661 

Joyce  Kilmer  .  253 

Moulton’s  Modern 

Readers’  Bible  .  628 

Chas.  Wharton  Stork  .  .  563 

Paul  Hayne  .  773 

Panatattu  ( East  Indian )  88 

John  Masefield .  719 

Mary  Mapes  Dodge  ....  674 

Charlotte  P.  Gilman  ....  442 


U 


Unanswered  Prayers 

Unbeliever,  An  . 

Unity  of  God,  The  . . 
Universal  Prayer,  The 
Unknown  God,  The  . , 

Unknown  God,  The  . , 

Uphill  . 

Unmanifest  Destiny  . 


Ella  Wheeler  Wilcox  ...  418 

Anna  Hempstead  Branch.  57 


Panatattu  ( East  Indian )  87 

Alexander  Pope  .  425 

George  Wm.  Russell  (A. 

E .)  41 

William  Watson  .  171 

.Christina  Rossetti  . 754 

Richard  Hovey .  645 


V 


Veni  Creator  . 

Veni  Creator  Spiritus  . 

Vespers  . . . 

Vestigia  . 

Via,  Veritas,  et  Vita  . 

Vicarious  Atonement  . 

Victory  . 

Village  Parson,  The  (From  The  Deserted 

Village)  . 

Virile  Christ,  A  . 

Virtue  . 

Vision  of  Sir  Launfal,  From  the  . 

Vision  of  the  Day  of  the  Judgment  . 

Vitae  Summa  Brevis  Spem  Nos  Vetat  Incohare 

Longam  . 

Vita  Nuova,  From . 

Voice  of  God,  The  . 

Voluntaries,  From  . 

Voyager's  Prayer,  A  . 


Bliss  Carman  . 

Charlemagne  . . 

S.  Weir  Mitchell  . 

Bliss  Carman  . 

Alice  Meynell . 

Richard  Aldington  . .  . . 
Australian  Soldier  . 

Oliver  Goldsmith  . 

Rex  Boundy  . 

George  Herbert  . 

James  Russell  Lowell  .  . 
Isaiah  LXIII  ( Moulton’s 
Modern  Readers’  Bible ) 

Ernest  Dowson  . 

Dante  ( G .  C.  D.  Ros¬ 
setti)  . 

James  Stephens  . 

Ralph  Waldo  Emerson.  . 
Chippewa  Indians  ( Tan¬ 
ner] )  . 


43i 

489 

685 

32 

78 

448 

209 

37i 

344 

627 

373 

746 

705 

74i 

243 

286 

453 


INDEX  OF  TITLES 


w 


799 

PAGE 


Wail  of  Prometheus  Bound,  The  (tr.  by  Eliz.  B. 

Browning)  . JEscJiyhis  . 

Waiting  . John  Burroughs  . 

Waldeinsamkeit . Ralph  Waldo  Emerson. 

Wanderer’s  Litany,  A  . Arthur  Stringer  . 

Wandering  Lunatic  Mind,  The  . Edward  Carpenter . 

Water  Mill,  The  . Sara  Doudney  . 


569 
187 
226 

583 

609 

■ .  623 

Way,  the  Truth,  and  the  Life,  The  . Theodore  Parker  .  334 

What  is  Prayer?  . James  Montgomery .  410 

What  Tomas  an  Buile  Said  in  a  Pub  . James  Stephens  .  164 

When  I  Survey  the  Wondrous  Cross  . Isaac  Watts  .  512 

Where  Lies  the  Land?  . Arthur  Hugh  Clough...  765 

Where  Runs  the  River?  . Francis  Bourdillon  ....  696 

Whisperer,  The  . James  Stephens  .  243 

Who  Bids  Us  Sing?  . Rhys  Carpenter  .  16 


Who  by  Searching  Can  Find  God?  . Eliza  Scudder . 

Who  Follows  in  His  Train?  . Reginald  Heber  . 

Who  Never  Ate  with  Tears  His  Bread?  . Goethe  . 

Wild  Knight,  The  . Gilbert  K.  Chesterton  . 

Within  and  Without,  From  . George  MacDonald  ... 

With  Whom  Is  No  Variableness . Arthur  Hugh  Clough  .. 

Woodnotes,  From  . Ralph  Waldo  Emerson. 

Word,  The  . Richard  Realf  . 

World,  The  . Henry  Vaughan  . 

World  Is  Too  Much  with  Us,  The  . William  Wordsworth  .. 

World  of  Light,  The  . Henry  Vaughan  . 


4i 

381 

578 

58 

297 

190 

126 

239 

760 

248 

762 


Zoroaster  Devoutly  Questions  Ormazd . Zoroaster 


55 


' 


, , . .  .  .  . 


* 

- 

. .  •  •  •  hi'  ■■  X 


. 


INDEX  OF  AUTHORS 


PAGE 

Abercrombie,  Lascelles  . The  Seeker  .  142 

A  chary  a  Ananda,  Sri . My  Faith  . .  208 

Acharya  Ananda,  Sri . Realization  .  613 

Adair,  Ivan  . Real  Presence  .  283 

Adams,  Francis  P . To  the  Christians . .  342 

Adams,  Sarah  Flower . Nearer,  My  God,  to  Thee .  533 

Addison,  Joseph  . Psalm  XIX  .  270 

AJschylus  (525-456  B.C .) . Hymn  to  Zeus  (Chorus  from  Agamem¬ 
non)  .  473 

JEschylus  ( tr .  by  E.  B.  Browning)  .The  Wail  of  Prometheus  Bound .  569 

Adler,  Felix  . Hail,  the  Glorious  Golden  City! .  770 

Aldington,  Richard  . Vicarious  Atonement  .  448 

Alexander,  Cecil  F . There  Is  a  Green  Hill  Far  Away....  536 

Alford,  Henry  . Harvest  Home  . .  534 

Anonymous  . Adeste  Fidelis  .  519 

Anonymous  . A  Traveller  .  66 1 

Anonymous  . Missing  .  695 

Anonymous  ..( Bible ) . Te  Deum  Laudamus,  482;  Magnificat, 

481;  Gloria  in  Excelsis,  480;  Nunc 

Dimittis,  481;  De  Profundis .  480 

Anonymous  ( From  German ) . Fairest  Lord  Jesus .  505 

Anonymous  . Jerusalem,  My  Happy  Home .  735 

Anonymous  . Resurgam  .  661 

Anonymous  . . Out  in  the  Fields  With  God .  249 

Anonymous  ( Old  High  German, 

10 th  Century,  A.D.)  (tr.  by  IV. 

Taylor)  . . . A  Good  Bishop .  356 

Anonymous  (From  French)  (tr. 

by  Percy  Allen) . A  Mystic  Song . 

Anonymous  (Assyrian,  2000  B.C.)  Hymn  to  Marduk . 463, 

Anonymous  (Babylonian,  2000 

B.C.)  . Penitential  Psalm  (Two  Selections) 

. 465, 

Anonymous  (Egyptian,  1700?  B.C.)Hymn  to  Amen  Ra,  the  Sun  God.... 

Anonymous  . Proofs  of  Buddha’s  Existence . 

Arkwright,  John  S . The  Supreme  Sacrifice .  567 

Arnold,  Edwin  . After  Death  in  Arabia .  663 

Arnold,  Matthew  . Calm  Soul  of  All  Things .  388 

Arnold,  Matthew  . Desire  .  419 

801 


506 

464 


467 

468 

84 


8o  2 


INDEX  OF  AUTHORS 


Arnold,  Matthew 
Arnold,  Matthew 
Arnold,  Matthew 
Australian  Soldier 


PAGE 


Rugby  Chapel  .  665 

East  London  .  388 

Self-Dependence  .  607 

Victory  .  209 


B 

Babcock ,  Maltbie . Death  .  670 

Bacon,  Leonard  . The  Pilgrim  Fathers  .  531 

Baker,  Karle  Wilson . Creeds  .  63^ 

Baker,, Karle  Wilson . The  Ploughman  .  568 

Baker,  Karle  Wilson . Good  Company  .  251 

Baring-Gould,  Sabine  . Child’s  Evening  Hymn  .  546 

Baring-Gould,  Sabine  . Onward,  Christian  Soldiers  .  544 

Barrett,  Wilson  Agnew . A  New  England  Church . 394 

Bates,  Katharine  Lee . America  the  Beautiful  .  559 

Bates,  Katharine  Lee . The  Kings  of  the  East .  342 

Bede,  The  Venerable  (735  A.D.)...A  Hymn  .  487 

Benet,  William  Rose . The  Falconer  of  God  .  55 

Benton,  Joel  .  The  Poet  .  1 

Bernard  of  Clairvaux  (1150  A.D .)  Jesus,  Thou  Joy  of  Loving  Hearts...  494 

Bernard  of  Cluny  (1145  A.D.)  ....Jerusalem  the  Golden  .  736 

Bickersteth,  E.  H . Peace,  Perfect  Peace  .  551 

Binney,  Thomas . Eternal  Light!  .  527 

Blake,  James  Vila  . In  Him  .  283 

Blake,  William  . From  Milton  . .  614 

Blake,  William . Auguries  of  Innocence  .  263 

Blake,  William . The  Bard  .  2 

Blake,  William . The  Divine  Image  .  284 

Blake,  William . The  Lamb  .  264 

Blake,  William . To  the  Christians  .  614 

Blake,  William  . The  Tiger  .  265 

Blind,  Mathilde  . The  Dead  .  696 

Bolton,  Sarah  K . The  Inevitable  .  586 

Booth,  Eva  Gore  . Crucifixion  .  343 

Booth,  Eva  Gore  . The  Harvest  .  285 

Bourdillon,  Francis  W . From  A  Lost  God  .  2 

Bourdillon,  Francis  W . Where  Runs  the  River?  .  696 

Boundy,  Rex  . A  Virile  Christ  . 344 

Bowring,  Sir  John  . In  the  Cross  of  Christ  I  Glory .  527 

Bradford,  Gamaliel  . God  .  57 

Branch,  Anna  Hempstead  . An  Unbeliever  .  57 

Bronte,  Anne  . The  Doubter’s  Prayer  .  186 

Bronte,  Emily  . Last  Lines  .  697 

Brooke,  Rupert  . Death  .  698 

Brooke,  Rupert  . Heaven  .  764 

Brooke,  Rupert  . Peace  .  698 

Brooke,  Stopford  . Courage  .  586 

Brooks,  Phillips  . O  Little  Town  of  Bethlehem  .  547 

Brown,  Alice  . Pagan  Prayer  .  421 

Brown,  Alice  . Hora  Christi  .  219 


INDEX  OF  MJTHORS 


803 


Brown,  Alice  . 

Brown,  Thomas  Edward  . . 

Brown,  Thomas  Edward  . 

Brozvning,  E.  B . 

Browning,  E.  B . . . 

Browning,  E.  B . 

Browning,  E.  B.  . . 

Browning,  Robert  . . . 

Browning,  Robert  . 

Browning,  Robert  . 

Browning,  Robert  . 

Browning,  Robert  . 

Browning,  Robert  . 

Browning,  Robert  . 

Browning,  Robert  . 

Browning,  Robert  . 

Browning,  Robert  . 

Bryant,  William  Cullen  . 

Bryant ,  William  Cullen  . 

Buddhist  Sisters  . 

Bunyan,  John  . 

Buonarotti,  Michelangelo  ( tr .  by 

Wm.  Wordsworth )  . 

Burns,  Robert  . 

Burns,  Robert  . 

Burroughs,  John  . 

Burton,  Richard . 

Burton,  Richard . 

Bynner,  Witter  . 

Bynner,  Witter  . r. . 

Bynner,  Witter  . 

Byron,  Lord . . . 

Byron,  Lord  . 

Byron,  Lord  . 


PAGE 


.  Revelation  .  220 

Disguises  • . 220 

My  Garden  . 254 

.From  Aurora  Leigh  .  105 

.  Substitution  .  568 

.  The  Sleep  . 723 

.  The  Poet  .  . . 3 

.  Abt  Vogler  .  107 

.Caliban  Upon  Setebos  . m 

.A  Grammarian’s  Funeral  .  70 

.  Karshish,  the  Arab  Physician .  310 

.The  Awakening  of  Man  (From  Para¬ 
celsus,  Pt.  V)  .  30 

.From  Pauline  .  29 

.  Prospice  .  670 

.  Rabbi  ben  Ezra  .  357 

.'Saul  .  1 19 

.  Song  from  Pippa  Passes .  221 

.  Thanatopsis  .  699 

.To  a  Waterfowl  .  266 

.A  Psalm  of  the  Early,  .  31 

.The  Shepherd  Boy  Sings  .  619 

.For  Inspiration  .  452 

.From  The  Cotter’s  Saturday  Night..  385 

.A  Prayer  in  Prospect  of  Death  .  439 

.Waiting  .  187' 

.God’s  Garden  .  255 

•  The  Song  of  the  Unsuccessful .  615 

.The  New  God . 144 

.  Ecce  Homo  .  143 

.  The  Poet  .  345 

.  The  Destruction  of  Sennacherib .  377 

.To  the  Ocean  (From  Childe  Harold’s 

Pilgrimage)  .  277 

.The  Immortal  Mind  .  701 


Call,  Mark  Wilks  , 

Calvin,  John  . 

Carman,  Bliss  .  . . 
Carman,  Bliss  .  . . 
Carman,  Bliss  .  . . 
Carlyle,  Thomas  .  . 
Carlyle,  Thomas  . 
Carpenter,  Edward 
Carpenter,  Ediuard 
Carpenter,  Edward 


C 

Renunciation  . 

Salutation  to  Jesus  Christ 

Veni  Creator  . 

The  Heretic  . 

Vestigia  . 

Cui  Bono?  . 

Today  . 

Among  the  Ferns  . 

•  Have  Faith  . 

Love’s  Vision  . 


145 

501 

43i 

222 

32 

587 

623 

•255 

20Q 

387 


8o4 


INDEX  OF  AUTHORS 


Carpenter,  Edward  . Over  the  Great  City  . . 

Carpenter,  Edward  . The  Songs  of  the  Birds  . 

Carpenter,  Edward  . . The  Stupid  Old  Body  . 

Carpenter,  Edward  . The  Wandering  Lunatic  Mind  . 

Carpenter,  Rhys  . Who  Bids  Us  Sing?  . 

Carpenter,  Rhys  . The  Master  Singers  . 

Carruth,  William  Herbert  . Each  in  His  Own  Tongue  . 

Cary,  Alice  . My  Creed  . 

Cary,  Phoebe  . Nearer  Home  . 

Case,  Elizabeth  York  . There  Is  No  Unbelief . 

Cawein,  Madison  . Attainment  . 

Celano,  Thomas  of  . Dies  Irae  . 

Cennick,  John  . . . Children  of  the  Heavenly  King  ..... 

Chadwick,  John  White  . Auld  Lang  Syne  . 

Charlemagne  (800  A.D.c .)  . Veni  Creator  Spiritus  . 

Chaucer  (tr.  by  H.  C.  Leonard)  ..The  Good  Parson  . 

Cheney,  Ednah  D . The  Larger  Prayer  . 

Cheney,  John  Vance  . The  Happiest  Heart  . 

Chesterton,  G.  K . Home  at  Last  . . . 

Chesterton,  G.  K . Holy  of  Holies  . 

Chesterton,  G.  K . The  Wild  Knight  . 

Chesterton,  G.  K . The  Donkey  . 

Chesterton,  G.  K . Prayer  . 

Chippewa  Indians  (tr.  by  Tanner)..  A  Voyager’s  Prayer . 

Clare,  John  . The  Peasant  Poet  . 

Clarke,  Thomas  Curtis . Bugle  Song  of  Peace . 

Clarke,  Thomas  Curtis . The  Search  . 

Clarke,  Thomas  Curtis . The  Poet’s  Call  . 

Cleanthes  (tr.  by  Plumptre)  . Hymn  to  Zeus . 

Cleghorn,  Sarah  N . Comrade  Jesus  . 

Clement  of  Alexandria  (1st  cen¬ 
tury)  . Earliest  Christian  Hymn  of,  . 

Clephane,  Elizabeth  C . There  Were  Ninety  and  Nine . 

Clifford,  Ethel  . The  Harp  of  Sorrow . 

Clough,  Arthur  Hugh  . Hope  Evermore  and  Believe  . 

Clough,  Arthur  Hugh  . Say  Not  the  Struggle  Naught  Avail- 

eth  . . . 

Clough,  Arthur  Hugh  . The  Latest  Decalogue  . 

Clough,  Arthur  Hugh  . Where  Lies  the  Land?  . 

Clough,  Arthur  Hugh  . With  Whom  Is  No  Variableness  .... 

Coleridge,  Samuel  Taylor . Hymn  Before  Sunrise  in  the  Vale  of 

Chamounix  . 

Coleridge,  Samuel  Taylor  . Religious  Musings  . 

Colton,  Arthur  . Harps  Hung  Up  in  Babylon  . 

Corbin,  Alice  (see  Henderson)  ....Nodes  . 

Cowper,  William  . Providence  . 

Cowper,  William  . Fragment  . 

Craik,  Dinah  Mulock  . Now  and  Afterwards  . 

Cranch,  Christopher  Pearse  . Thought  . 


PAGE 

389 

267 

608 

609 
16 
16 

145 

636 

570 

188 
603 

73 

5i7 

671 

489 

363 

421 

619 

771 

258 

58 

268 
449 
453 

3 

771 

33 

4 

433 

345 

478 

548 

597 

189 

700 

395 

765 

190 

274 

100 

626 

290 

181 

4 

703 

5 


INDEX  OF  AUTHORS 


805 

PAGE 

Crane,  Stephen  . „ . The  Peaks  .  409 

Crashaw,  Richard  . The  Holy  Nativity  of  Our  Lord  God  317 

Crashaw,  Richard  . Hymn  to  St.  Teresa  .  364 

Croly,  George . Death  and  Resurrection  .  737 


D 


Dana,  Richard  Henry  . . 

Dante  ( tr .  by  Cary )  . . 

Dante  ( tr .  by  Longfellow)  . 

Dante  (tr.  by  Rossetti )  . 

Davies,  Mary  Carolyn  . . 

Davies,  William  Hdnry  . 

Dawson,  William  James  . 

de  Aldana,  Francisco  . 

de  Benedictis,  Jacobus  . 

de  la  Barca,  Pedro  Calderon  .  .  .  . 

Deland,  Margaret  . 

de  Long,  Juanita . 

Demarest,  Mary  Lee  . 

Derzhavin  ( tr .  by  Sir  John  Bow¬ 
ring)  . 

de  Vere,  Sir  Aubrey  . 

de  Vere,  Sir  Aubrey  . 

de  Vere,  Sir  Aubrey  . 

Dickinson,  Emily  . 

Dickinson,  Emily  . 

Dickinson,  Emily  .  . . . 

Dickinson,  Emily  . 

Dickinson,  Emily  . 

Dickinson,  Emily  . 

Dickinson,  Emily  . 

Dickinson,  Emily  . 

Dickinson,  Emily  . 

Doddridge,  Philip  . 

Dodge,  Mary  Mapes . 

Domett,  Alfred  . 

Donne,  John  . 

Doolittle,  Hilda  {Mrs.  Richard 

Aldington)  . 

Doudney,  Sara  . 

Dowden,  Edward . 

Dowden,  Mrs.  Edward  ( Elizabeth 

Dickinson  West)  . 

Doiuson,  Ernest . 

Drinkwater ,  John  . 

Driscoll,  Louise  . 

Driscoll,  Louise  . 

Dryden,  John . 


Immortality  . 

The  Saints  in  Glory . 

The  Celestial  Pilot  . 

From  Vita  Nuova  . 

Feet  . 

Christ  the  Man  . 

Inspirations  . 

The  Image  of  God  . 

Stabat  Mater  . 

Thou  Art  of  All  Created  Things.... 

Life  . 

My  Hereafter  . 

My  Ain  Countree  . 

O  Thou  Eternal  One!  . 

Sorrow  . 

The  Right  Use  of  Prayer  . 

Reality  . 

Death  . . . 

Death  . 

Chartless  . 

Some  Keep  Sunday  Going  to  Church 

The  Chariot  . 

The  Child’s  Question  . 

Thirst  . 

Resurgam  .  .  . . . 

Sorrow  . 

Awake,  My  Soul!  . 

Two  Mysteries  . 

A  Christmas  Hymn  . 

For  Forgiveness  . 

Pygmalion  . 

The  Water  Mill  . 

Seeking  God  . 

Adrift  . . 

Vitae  Summa  Brevis  Spem  Nos  Vetat 

Incohare  Longam  . 

A  Prayer  . 

Epitaph  . 

God’s  Pity  . 

From  Reli.^io  Laici  . 


703 

738 

740 

741 
34 

346 

6 

90 

483 

506 

285 

704 

743 

435 

577 

410 

126 

673 

673 

744 
223 
672 

745 

674 
674 
598 
520 
674 
321 
453 

146 

623 

34 

190 

705 
440 

706 
588 
iox 


8o6 


INDEX  OF  AUTHORS 


PAGE 

Dwight,  Timothy  . The  Smooth  Divine .  369 

Dyer,  Sir  Edward . My  Minde  to  Me  a  Kingdom  Is,...  610 


E 


East  Indian  Toda  . 

East  Indian  (1469  A.D .) 

East  Indian  . 

Eastman,  Max  . 

Eastman,  Max  . 

Eliot,  George  . 

Eliot,  George  . 

Eller  ton,  John  . 

Ellerton,  John  . 

Ellwood,  Thomas . 

Emerson,  Ralph  W.  . .  . 
Emerson,  Ralph  IV.  . . . 
Emerson,  Ralph  W.  .  .  . 
Emerson,  Ralph  W .  .  . . 
Emerson,  Ralph  W.  .  .  • 
Emerson,  Ralph  W.  .  . . 
Emerson,  Ralph  W.  .  . . 
Emerson,  Ralph  W.  .  . . 
Emerson,  Ralph  IV.  .  . . 
Emerson,  Ralph  W .  . . . 
Emerson,  Ralph  W.  .  . . 
Emerson,  Ralph  W.  . . . 


.To  a  Sacred  Cow  . 

.  From  Nanak  ami  the  Sikhs . 

.  See  Buddhist  Sisters,  Section  II,  a. 
.  At  the  Aquarium  . 

•  Invocation  . 

.  Oh,  May  I  Join  the  Choir  Invisible 

.The  Tide  of  Faith . 

.  The  God  of  the  Living . 

.Now  the  Labourer’s  Task  Is  O’er.. 

.  Prayer  . 

.  Boston  Hymn  . 

.  Brahma  . 

•  Each  and  All  . 

.Good-bye,  Proud  World  . 

•  Forbearance  . . . 

.  The  Informing  Spirit  . 

.  The  Bohemian  Hymn  . 

.The  Problem  . 

.Music  . 

.  From  Voluntaries  . 

.  Waldeinsamkeit  . 

.  From  Woodnotes  . 


454 

497 

59 

438 

707 

190 

675 

549 

422 

378 

igr 

192 

224 

224 
286 
128 

17 

225 
286 
226 
126 


F 


“E  B  P  ” 

Faber,  Frederick  W. 
Faber,  Frederick  W. 
Firdausi  ( Persian )  .  .  . 

Fletcher,  Giles  . 

Foss,  Sam  Walter 
Foss,  Sam  Walter 
Frank,  Florence  Kiper 

Foulke,  Dudley  . 

Foulke,  Dudley  . 

Fuller,  Margaret  . 


. O  Mother  Dear,  Jerusalem  . 

. God,  Our  Father  . 

. O  Paradise!  O  Paradise!  . 

. The  Dream  . 

. Excellency  of  Christ  . 

. The  House  by  the  Side  of  the  Road.. 

. The  Higher  Catechism  . 

. The  Jew  to  Jesus  . . . 

. The  City’s  Crown . 

. Life’s  Evening  . 

. Dryad  Song  . 


503 

536 

745 

6 

323 

620 
73 
347 
390 
708 
6  77 


G 

Gale,  Norman  . The  Country  Faith .  250 

Gale,  Norman  . Child  of  Loneliness .  34 

Gannett,  Wm,  Channing . Consider  the  Lilies  .  258 

Gannett,  Wm.  Channing . The  Highway  .  350 

Gannett,  Wm.  Channing  . The  Stream  of  Faith  .  193 

Garland,  Hamlin  . The  Cry  of  the  Age  .  441 

Garrison,  Theodosia  . Stains  .  772 


INDEX  OF  AUTHORS 


Gerhardt,  Paul  . Courage  . » . 

Gibson ,  Wilfrid  W . Inspiration  . 

Gilder,  Richard  W . How  to  the  Singer  Comes  the  Song? 

Gilder,  Richard  W . The  Invisible  . 

Gilder,  Richard  W . Call  Me  Not  Dead  . 

Gilder,  Richard  W . The  Song  of  a  Heathen  . 

Gilder,  Jeanette  . My  Creed  . 

Gilman,  Charlotte  P . A  Common  Inference  . 

Gilman,  Charlotte  P . Resolve  . 

Gilman,  Charlotte  P . Give  Way!  . 

Gilman,  Charlotte  P . The  Living  God  . 

Gilman,  Charlotte  P . Two  Prayers  . 

Gilmore,  Joseph  Henry  . He  Leadeth  Me  . 

Gladden,  Washington  . O  Master  Let  Me  Walk  with  Thee... 

Goethe  . Easter  Chorus  from  Faust  . . 

Goethe  . Who  Never  Ate^with  Tears  His  Bread 

Golding,  Louis  . Second  Seeing  . 

Goldsmith,  Oliver  . The  Village  Parson  (From  The  De¬ 
serted  Village)  . 

Gould,  Gerald  . The  Happy  Tree  . 

Grant,  Sir  Robert . Majesty  and  Mercy  of  God . 

Gregh,  Fernand  . Doubt  . 

Gregory,  The  Great  (600  A.D.c.) ..  Morning  Hymn  . 

Guiney,  Louise  Imogen  . Out  in  the  Fields  with  God . 

Guiterman,  Arthur  . In  the  Hospital  . 

Gurney ,  Dorothy  Frances  . The  Lord  God  Planted  a  Garden.... 

Gustavus  Adolphus  . Battle  Hymn  . 

Guyon,  Madame  . A  Little  Bird  I  Am . 

Guy  on,  Madame  . . «...  Adoration  . . . 


807 

PAGE 

593 

7 

8 

272 

677 

323 

637 

*47 

630 

148 

128 

442 

538 

553 

323 

578 

324 

37i 

251 

104 

194 

487 

249 

2x0 

259 

504 

182 

5i2 


H 


Hale,  Edward  Everett  . . . 
Hale,  Edward  Everett  . . . 

Hardy,  Thomas  . 

Hardy,  Thomas  . 

Hardy,  Thomas  . 

Haver  gal,  Frances  Ridley 
Haver  gal,  Frances  Ridley 

Hay,  John  . 

Hay,  John  . 

Hayne,  Paul  Hamilton  . 

Heath,  Ella  . 

Heber,  Reginald  . 

Heber,  Reginald  . 

Heber,  Reginald  . 

Heber,  Reginald  . 

Henderson,  Alice  Corbin  . 
Henley,  William  Ernest  . 
Henley,  William  Ernest  . 


Omnipresence  . 

The  Nameless  Saints . 

Agnosto  Theo  . 

God’s  Funeral  . 

The  Impercipient  . 

Thou  Art  Coming!  . 

Reality  . 

Not  in  Dumb  Resignation  . 

Religion  and  Doctrine  . 

The  True  Heaven  . 

Poetry  . 

Brightest  and  Best  of  the  Sons  of  the 

Morning  . 

Thrice  Holy  . 

Who  Follows  in  His  Train?  . 

From  Greenland’s  Icy  Mountains.... 

Nodes  . 

Invictus  . '. 

Margaritse  Sorori  . 


229 

631 

149 

149 

396 

550 

325 

556 

637 

773 

9 

525 

529 

381 

526 
290 
588 
725 


8o8 


INDEX  OF  AUTHORS 


Herbert,  George  . 

Herbert,  George  . 

Herrick,  Robert  . 

Herrick,  Robert  . 

Herrick,  Robert  . 

H eywood,  Thomas  . 

Hey  wood,  Thomas  . 

Hinkson,  Katharine  T . 

Hinkson,  Katharine  T . 

Hinkson,  Katharine  T . 

Hodgson,  Ralph  . 

Hodgson,  William  Noel . 

Holland,  Josiah  G . 

Holland,  Josiah  G . 

Holland,  Josiah  G . 

Holley,  Horace  . . 

Holmes,  O.  W.  . . 

Holmes,  O.  W . 

Holmes,  O.  W . 

Hosmer,  F.  L . 

Hosmer,  F.  L . 

Hosmer,  F.  L . 

Hosmer,  F.  L . 

Housman,  Laurence  . 

Housman,  Laurence  . 

Hovey,  Richard  . 

Hovey,  Richard  . 

Hovey,  Richard  . 

Howell,  Elizabeth  Lloyd  . 

Howells,  Win.  D- . 

Howells,  Wm.  D . 

Howe,  Wm.  Walsham  . 

Howe,  Julia  Ward  . 

Hugo,  Victor  ( tr .  by  W.  J. 

Robertson )  . 

Hugo,  Victor  . 

Hunt,  Leigh  . 


The  Elixir  . . . 

Virtue  . 

A  Thanksgiving  to  God . 

To  Finde  God  . 

To  God  . . 

Hierarchie  of  the  Blessed  Angel,  From 

From  The  Cherubim  . 

Of  an  Orchard  . 

The  Epitaph  . 

The  Flying  Wheel  . 

The  Mystery  . 

Before  Action  . 

Gradatim  . 

A  Song  of  Doubt  . 

A  Song  of  Faith . . 

The  Hill  . 

The  Chambered  Nautilus . 

The  Living  Temple . 

A  Sun-Day  Hymn . 

My  Dead  . 

Thy  Kingdom  Come  . 

Thy  Kingdom  Come,  O  Lord . 

The  Indwelling  God  . 

The  Continuing  City  . 

From  All  Fellows  . 

Immanence  . 

Transcendence  . 

Unmanifest  Destiny  . 

Miltom’s  Prayer  for  Patience  . 

A  Prayer  . 

Faith  . 

Funeral  Hymn  . 

Battle  Hymn  of  the  Republic  . 

The  Age  Is  Great  and  Strong  . 

The  Poet’s  Simple  Faith  . 

Abou  ben  Adhem  . 


Ibsen,  Hendrik  (tr.  by  Herford ) 

Ingelow,  Jean  . 

Ingelozv,  Jean  . 

Ingemann,  Bernard  (tr.  by  S. 

Baring-Gould )  . 

Iroquois  Indians  (tr.  by  E.  S. 

Parker )  . 

Isaiah  (Moulton’ s  Modern 

Readers’  Bible,  LXII1)  . 


I 

Brand  Speaks  . 

Longing  for  Home  . 

Sorrows  Humanize  Our  Race  . 

Pilgrim’s  Song  . 

A  Dance  Chant . 

Vision  of  the  Day  of  Judgment 


PAGE 

442 

627 

445 

61 

183 

35 

291 
252 

229 
!'83 

77 

450 

77 

195 

195 
38 

604 

292 

539 

709 

557 

560 

294 

774 

372 

230 

231 

645 

19 

447 

196 
542 
644 

382 

196 

616 


130 

677 

578 

545 

555 

746 


INDEX 

OF  AUTHORS 

809 

T 

PAGE 

Jackson ,  Helen  Hunt  . 

Jackson,  Helen  Hunt  . 

.  Habeas  Corpus  . 

.  Doubt  . 

Job  {Moulton’ s  Modern  Readers’ 

Bible,  XI,  7-8)  . 

Job  {Moulton’s  Modern  Readers’ 
Bible,  XIV ,  1-1 2;  XIX,  25-27). 

Johnson,  Samuel  . 

Johnson,  Samuel  . 

Jones,  Thomas  S.,  Jr . 

Jordan,  David  Starr . 

.  Job’s  Comforters  . 

.  Immortality  . 

.  City  of  God  . 

.  Inspiration  . 

.  The  Path  of  the  Stars  . 

.Men  Told  Me,  Lord . 

K 


K.,  in  Rippon’s  Selections  . 

Kabir  (1440  A.D.)  { tr .  by  Rabin¬ 
dranath  Tagore)  . 

Kalevala  { Finnish )  . 

Keller,  Helen  . 

Kemp,  Harry  . 

Kemp,  Harry  . 

Kemp,  Harry  . .  . 

Kerr,  Watson  . 

Kethe,  William  . * . 

Khayyam,  Omar  {tr.  by  Fitz¬ 
gerald)  . 

Kilmer,  Joyce . . 

Kilmer,  Joyce . 

Kipling,  Rudyard  . 

Kipling,  Rudyard  . . 

Kipling,  Rudyard  . 

Knox,  William  . 

K.,  E.  H . 


How  Firm  a  Foundation  .  524 

Two  Songs  . 231,  295 

Prayer  for  Rain  .  454 

In  the  Garden  of  the  Lord  .  373 

He  Did  Not  Know  .  679 

God  the  Architect  .  2  ir 

Prayer  .  447 

The  Ancient  Thought  .  232 

Scotch  Te  Deum  .  502 

From  The  Rubaiyat  (selections)  60,  713 

Trees  .  253 

Poets  . 9 

L’Envoi  .  715 

The  Recessional  .  558 

The  Sons  of  Martha  .  617 

O  Why  Should  the  Spirit  of  Mortal 

Be  Proud?  .  621 

The  City  Church  .  397 


L 


Lanier,  Sidney  . 

Lanier,  Sidney  . 

Larcom,  Lucy  . 

Lathbury,  Mary  A.  .  . 
Lawrence,  D.  H.  ... 

Lazarus ,  Emma  . 

Lea,  Fanny  Heaslip  . 
Lecky,  Win.  E.  H.  . 
Lee-Hamilton,  Eugene 
le  Gallienne ,  Richard 

Leslie,  Shane  . 

Letts,  Winifred  W.  . 


A  Ballad  of  Trees  and  the  Master  . . . 

The  Marshes  of  Glynn  . 

A  Strip  of  Blue  . 

The  Day  Is  Dying  in  the  West . 

Dreams  Old  and  Nascent  (From 

Amores)  . 

Gifts  . 

The  Dead  Faith  . 

Of  an  Old  Song  . 

My  Own  Hereafter  . 

The  Second  Crucifixion  . 

Priest  or  Poet . . 

The  Spires  of  Oxford  . 


253 

233 

236 

552 


152 

422 

212 

10 

716 

347 

398 

775 


8io  INDEX  OF  AUTHORS 


Lindsay,  Vachel  . 

Lindsay,  Vachel  . 

Longfellow,  Henry  W. 

Longfellow,  Henry  W. 
Longfellow,  Samuel  .  . . 
Longfellow,  Samuel  .  .  . 

Lowell,  Amy  . 

Lowell,  Amy  . 

Lowell,  James  R . 

Lowell,  James  R . 

Lowell,  James  R . 

Lowell,  James  R . 

Luther,  Martin  . 

Lyall,  Sir  Alfred  C.  .  . . 

Lynch,  Thomas  T . 

Lyte,  Henry  F . 


PAGE 


General  William  Booth  Enters 

Heaven  .  747 

I  Went  Down  into  the  Desert  to  Meet 

Elijah  .  6  2 

The  Fate  of  the  Prophets  (From 

The  Divine  Tragedy)  .  n 

The  Republic  .  646 

The  Church  Universal  .  556 

The  Christian  Life  . 594 

Fragment  .  22 

The  Poet  .  1 1 

The  Present  Crisis  .  642 

From  The  Vision  of  Sir  Launfal  ....  3 73 

’Tis  Sorrow  Builds  the  Shining  Lad¬ 
der  Up  .  597 

God  Is  Not  Dumb  (From  Bibliolaters)  22 

.Hymn  .  498 

Meditations  of  a  Hindu  Prince .  63 

Lift  Up  Your  Heads,  Rejoice!  .  537 

Abide  with  Me  .  535 


M 

MacDonald,  George  . From  Within  and  Without 

MacDonald,  George  . Obedience  . . 

MacDonald,  George  . That  Holy  Thing  . 

MacDonald,  George  . Epitaph  . 

MacDonald,  George  . Lost  and  Found  . 

Mackaye,  Percy  . A  Prayer  of  the  Peoples  .  . 

Macleod,  Fiona  (see  Sharp,  William) 

McLeod,  Irene  Rutherford  . From  The  Rebel  . 

McLeod,  Norman  . A  Creed  . 

MacManus,  Seumas  . In  Dark  Hour . 

Martha  Saints  (E.  Indian  1608- 

1649)  . The  Restless  Heart  . 

Markham, 

Markham, 

Markham, 

Markham, 

Markham, 


Edwin  . A  Guard  of  the  Sepulcher . 

Edwin  . A  Prayer  . 

Edwin  . The  Man  with  the  Hoe  . 

Edwin  . The  Poet  . 

Edwin  . Revelation  . 

Marquis,  Don  . The  God-Maker,  Man  . . . , ,, 

Massey,  Gerald  B . His  Banner  Over  Me  . 

Masefield ,  John  . The  Seekers  . 

Masefield ,  John  . From  the  Tragedy  of  Pompey  the  Great 

Masefield,  John  . A  Creed  . 

Masefield,  John  . From  The  Everlasting  Mercy . 

Masefield,  John  . Sonnets  . , . 

Masefield,  John  . Truth  . 

Mary  Queen  of  Scots  . Prayer  before  Execution  . 

Matheson,  George  . O  Love  That  Wilt  Not  Let  Me  Go... 


297 

632 

327 

455 

39 
45i 

.212 

639 

595 

509 

349 

•  254 

375 

12 

40 
154 
57i 

66 

718 

716 

718 
213 

719 
439 
553 


INDEX  OF  AUTHORS 


8n 


Meredith,  George  . 

Meredith,  George  . 

Meredith,  George  . «... 

Meredith,  George  . 

Merrill,  Win.  Pierson . 

Meynell,  Alice  . 

Meynell,  Alice  . . 

Meynell,  Alice  . 

Mifflin,  Lloyd  . .  . .  .  . 

Miller,  Joaquin  . 

Milton,  John  . 

Milton,  John  . 

Milton,  John  . . 

Milton,  John  . 

Milton,  John  ....... . 

Milton,  John  . 

Mitchell,  S.  Weir . 

Modern  Chinese  . 

Monro,  Harold  . 

Montgomery,  James  . 

Moody,  William  Vaughn.  . 
Moody,  William  Vaughn. . 

Moore Thomas  . 

Morgan,  Angela  . 

Morgan,  Angela  . 

Morgan,  Angela  . 

Morgan,  Angela  . 

Morris,  Lewis  . 

Morris,  William  . 

Moulton’s  Modern  Readers’ 
Isaiah  . 

Job  . 

Job  . 

Psalm  . 

Psalm  . 

Psalm  . 

Psalm  . 

Psalm  . 

Psalm  . 

Psalm  . 

Psalm  . 

Psalm  . 

Psalm  . 

Psalm  . 

Psalm  . . 


. The  Question  Whither . 

. The  Test  of  Manhood . 

. Sense  and  Spirit . 

. From  A  Faith  on  Trial . 

. Festal  Song  . 

. To  a  Daisy . 

. A  Song  of  Derivations . 

......  Via,  Veritas,  et  Vita . . 

. Sovereign  Poets  . 

. The  Fortunate  Isles . 

. Adam’s  Morning  Hymn . 

. Let  Us  with  a  Gladsome  Mind . 

. On  the  Morning  of  Christ’s  Nativity 

. Sonnet  on  His  Blindness . 

. Lycidas  . 

. The  Plan  of  Salvation  (From  Para¬ 
dise  Lost)  . 

. Vespers  . 

. The  New  Heart . 

. God  (From  Dawn) . 

. What  is  Prayer? . . 

. From  The  Fire  Bringer . 

. From  Gloucester  Moors . 

. Come,  Ye  Disconsolate . . . 

. Reality  . 

. God  Prays !  . . . 

. The  Poet  . 

. Hail  Man !  . 

. The  Beginnings  of  Faith . 

. The  Day  is  Coming . 

Bible : 

. LXIII  (Vision  of  the  Day  of  Judg¬ 
ment)  . 

. XI,  7-8  (Job’s  Comforters) . 

. XIV,  1-12;  XIX,  25-27  (Immortality) 

. I  (The  Tree  and  the  Chaff) . 

. XIX  (The  Heavens  Above  and  the 

Law  Within)  . 

. XXIII  (The  Protection  of  Jehovah). 

. XXVII  (The  Deliverance  of  Jehovah) 

. XLII  (The  Search) . 

. XLVI  (The  Refuge) . 

. XCI  (The  Everlasting  Arms) . 

. XCIII  (Jehovah’s  Immovable  Throne) 

......  CIII  (Hymn  of  the  World  Within).. 

......  CIV  (Hymn  of  the  World  Without) 

. CVII  (The  Ocean) . 

. CXXI  (The  Pilgrim’s  Song) . 


PAGE 

720 

131 

215 

215 

564 

260 

721 

78 

12 

766 

509 

507 

327 

597 

680 

93 

685 

554 

156 

4x0 

238 

647 

596 

158 

411 

23 

298 

197 

776 


746 

62 

711 

628 

271 

9i 

9i 

50 

574 

575 
93 

287 

227 

278 

576 


812  INDEX  OF  AUTHORS 

PAGE 

Psalm  . . CXXXIX  (The  Searcher  of  Hearts 

Is  Thy  Maker)  .  289 

Muhlenberg,  Wm,  A . Fulfillment  .  528 

Myers,  F.  W.  H . . . The  Inner  Light  . .  132 


N 

Nairne,  Lady  Carolina . The  Land  o’  the  Leal  . 

Navajo  Indian  ( tr .  by  Cronyn )  ....Prayer  to  the  Mountain  Spirit . 

Neihardt,  John  G . Envoi  . . 

Neihardt,  John  G . Prayer  for  Pain  . . 

Nezvbolt,  Sir  Henry  . The  Final  Mystery  . 

Newman,  John  Henry  . The  Pillar  of  the  Cloud . 

Newton,  John  . Glorious  Things  of  Thee  Are  Spoken, 

Nichols,  Robert  . Our  Dead  . . 

Nichols,  Robert  . The  Secret  Garden  , . . .  . . 

Noguchi,  Yone  . The  Poet . . 

North,  Frank  Mason  . The  City  . 


749 

456 

414 

456 

722 
443 
523 

723 

260 

13 

56i 


Oppenheim,  James  . Death  .  685 

Oppenheim,  James  . The  New  God  .  160 

O'Reilly,  John  Boyle  . Forever  .  686 

0  Sheel,  Shaemas  . He  Whom  a  Dream  Hath  Possessed..  23 

O  Sheet,  Shaemas  . “They  Went  Forth  to  Battle  but  They 

Always  Fell”  .  589 

Osage  Indians  . A  Dance  Chant  . .  457 

Oxenham,  John  . Some  Blesseds  .  640 

Oxenham,  John  . Seeds  .  686 


P 


Paine,  Albert  Bigelow  . . 

Palgrave,  Francis  T . 

Palmer,  Ray  . 

Parker,  Theodore  . 

Parkwood,  Rose . 

Panatattu  ( E .  Indian,  10 th  Cen¬ 
tury  A.D.)  . 

Panatattu  ( E .  Indian,  10 th  Cen¬ 
tury  A.D.)  . 

Peabody,  Josephine  P . 

Percy,  William  A . 

Perronet,  Edward  . 

Phelps,  E.  Stuart  . 

Phillips,  Stephen  . 

Phillips,  Stephen  . 

Piper,  Edtvin  Ford  . 

Plummer,  Mary  Wright  . 

Plunkett,  Joseph  Mary  . 

Pope,  Alexander  . 


The  Hills  of  Rest  . 

City  of  God  . 

My  Faith  Looks  Up  to  Thee . 

The  Way,  the  Truth,  and  the  Life... 
The  Garden  . 

The  Unity  of  God  . 

True  Knowledge  . 

To  a  Dog  . . . 

Farmers  . 

Coronation  (English  Te  Deum)  . 

A  Generous  Creed  . 

Grief  and  God  . 

The  Poet’s  Prayer  . 

The  Church  . 

Irrevocable  . 

I  See  His  Blood  upon  the  Rose . 

From  The  Essay  on  Man . 


726 

778 

529 

334 

261 

87 

88 
268 
250 
522 
641 
572 

424 

398 

625 

262 
105 


INDEX  OF  AUTHORS 


Pope,  Alexander  ... 
Pope,  Alexander  ... 

Pope,  Alexander  .  . . 
Proctor,  Adelaide  A. 
Proctor,  Adelaide  A. 
Proctor,  Adelaide  A. 
Pushkin,  Alexander 


813 

PAGE 


Faith  .  198 

Rise,  Crowned  with  Light,  Imperial 

Salem  Rise!  .  153 

The  Universal  Prayer  .  425 

The  Lost  Chord  .  576 

The  Present .  643 

Cleansing  Fires  .  580 

The  Prophet  .  13 


R 

Racine,  Jean  B . Chorus  from  Athalie  . 

Raleigh,  Sir  Walter  . My  Pilgrimage  . 

Raleigh,  Sir  Walter  . The  Soul’s  Errand  . 

Raleigh,  Sir  Walter  . The  Conclusion  . . . 

Rascas,  Bernard  . The  Love  of  God  (From  the  Proven¬ 
cal)  . 

Realf,  Richard  . The  Word  . 

Reese,  Lisette  Woodzvorth  . Tears  . 

Rice,  Cale  Young  . The  Mystic  . 

Rice,  Cale  Young  . A  Litany  for  Latter-Day  Mystics.... 

Rice,  Cale  Young  . Providence  . 

Rig-Veda,  X,  129  ( East  Indian)....  Brahma,  The  World  Idea . 

Riley,  James  W . Away!  . 

Robinson,  Edwin  Arlington  . Credo  . 

Robinson,  Edwin  Arlington  . Calvary  . 

Robert  of  France  (1000  A.D.)  ....Strength,  Love,  Light  . 

Romain,  Jules  ( tr .  by  Jethro 

Bithell)  . The  Church  . 

Rossetti,  Christina  . Marvel  of  Marvels  . 

Rossetti,  Christina  . Paradise  . 

Rossetti,  Christina  . Uphill  . 

Rossetti,  Gabriel  Charles  Dante  .  . .  Mary’s  Girlhood  . 

Russell,  G.  W.  (A.  E.)  . .  The  City  . 

Russell,  G.  W.  (A.  E.)  . The  Garden  of  God  . 

Russell,  G.  W.  (A.  E.)  . The  Great  Breath  . 

Russell,  G.  W.  (A.  E.)  . The  Unknown  God  . 

Russell,  G.  W.  (A.  E.)  . Immortality  . 

Russell,  G.  W.  (A.  E.)  . The  Place  of  Rest  . 


511 

750 

648 

688 

86 

239 

590 

66 

427 

300 

83 

688 

40 
350 
493 

400 
7  52 

753 

754 
335 
390 
392 

240 

41 
689 
726 


S 


St.  Francis  of  Assisi  (1225  A.D.) ..  Canticle  of  the  Sun  . 

St.  Francis  Xavier  .  Hymn  . 

St.  Joseph  of  the  Stadium  (c.850 

A.D) . The  Finished  Course  . 

St.  Teresa  (1550c.)  . The  Life  Above,  the  Life  on  High.. 

St.  Patrick  (400  A.D.c.)  . The  Deer’s  Cry  . 

St  Thomas  of  Aquinas  (1250 


A.D.c)  _ 

Sandburg,  Carl 


494 

500 

491 

756 

485 


Hymn  . 

Manufactured  Gods 


495 
1 6  j 


814 


INDEX  OF  AUTHORS 


Sandburg,  Carl  . To  a  Contemporary  ifunkshooter  . . . . 

Santayana,  George  . Faith  . . 

Santayana,  George  . Sorrow  . 

Sarett,  Lew  . God  Is  at  the  Anvil . 

Sassoon,  Siegfried  . Before  Day  . 

Sassoon,  Siegfried  . A  Mystic  as  Soldier  . 

Sassoon,  Siegfried  . The  Redeemer  . 

Savage,  Minot  J . My  Birth  . 

Scheffler,  Johannes  . The  Cherubic  Pilgrim  . 

Scudder,  Elisa  . Who  by  Searching  Can  Find  God?.. 

Scudder,  Vida  . Thy  Kingdom,  Lord,  We  Long  For.  . 

Seeger,  Alan  . The  Rendezvous  . 

Seneca  . The  End  of  Being  . 

Shakespeare,  William  . Cranner’s  Prophecy  of  Queen  Eliza¬ 
beth  (From  Henry  VIII)  . 


Sharp,  William  ( Fiona  Macleod)  ..  .Dream  Fantasy  . 

Sharp,  William  ( Fiona  Macleod)  ..  .Madonna  Natura  . 

Sharp,  William  ( Fiona  Macleod) ..  .The  Mystic’s  Prayer  . 

Sharp,  William  ( Fiona  Macleod)... The  Founts  of  Song  . 

Sharp,  William  ( Fiona  Macleod)... The  Redeemer  . 

Shelley,  Percy  B . From  Adonais  . 

Shepard,  Odell  . In  the  Dawn  . 

Shepard,  Odell  . The  Hidden  Weaver  . 

Sioux  Indians  ( tr .  by  Beede)  . The  Land  of  the  Evening  Mirage.... 

Sill,  Edward  Rowland  . The  Fool’s  Prayer  . 

Sill,  Edward  Rowland  . Opportunity  . 

Sitwell,  Oswald  . How  Shall  We  Rise  to  Greet  the 

Dawn  ?  . . 


PAGE 

350 

216 

596 

241 

78 

161 
352 
689 

755 

4i 

561 

727 
85 

383 

728 
241 

444 

24 

133 

691 

650 

162 
766 
427 
625 

163 


Sivaite  Puritans  fioth  Century, 

A.D.)  . Hymn  of,  . 

Smart,  Christopher  . Song  to  David  . 

Smith,  May  Riley  . My  Uninvited  Guest  . 

Smith,  Samuel  F . The  Morning  Light  Is  Breaking  .... 

Solomon,  Ode  VI  of . Inspiration  . 

Solomon,  Ode  XXXVIII  <ff . To  Truth  . 

Sophocles  (490-405?  B.C.)  . Chorus  from  CEdipus  Rex  . 

Sorley,  Charles  Hamilton  . The  Seekers  . 

Sorley,  Charles  Hamilton  . From  Marlborough  . 

Sorley,  Charles  Hamilton  . Expectans  Expectavi  . 

Spenser,  Edmund  . From  Hymn  of  Heavenly  Beauty  ... 

Starbuck,  Victor  . The  Seekers  . 

Stedman,  Edmund  Clarence  . From  The  Ordeal  by  Fire . 

Stephens,  James  . What  Tomas  an  Buile  Said  in  a  Pub 

Stephens,  James  . The  Whisperer  . 

Stephens,  James  . The  Voice  of  God . 

Sterling,  George  . Omnia  Exeunt  in  Mysterium  . 

Sternhold,  Thomas  . The  Majesty  of  God  . 

Stevenson,  Robert  Louis  . . If  This  Were  Faith  . . 

Stevenson,  Robert  Louis  . Requiem  . 


492 

95 

580 

530 

475 

477 

474 

79 

80 
605 

98 

68 

582 

164 

243 

243 

729 

99 
199 
729 


INDEX  OF  AUTHORS 


8i5 

PAGE 

Stevenson ,  Robert  Louis  . The  Celestial  Surgeon  .  583 

Stone,  Samuel  J . The  Church’s  One  Foundation  .  532 

Stork,  Charles  Wharton  . God,  You  Have  Been  Too  Good  to  Me  448 

Stork,  Charles  Wharton  . The  Troubadour  of  God .  563 

Stowe,  Harriet  Beecher  . The  Other  World  .  767 

Story,  William  Wetmore . lo  Victis  .  590 

Stringer,  Arthur  J . A  Wanderer’s  Litany  .  583 

Sutton,  Henry  Septimus  . The  Inward  Light  .  444 

Symonds,  John  Addington  . An  Invocation .  133 

Symonds,  John  Addington  . The  Human  Outlook .  729 

Swinburne,  A.  C . From  The  Hymn  of  Man  .  300 

T 

Tabb,  John  B . Faith  .  200 

Tabb,  John  B . Communion  .  135 

Tabb,  John  B . Inspiration  .  14 

Tagore,  Rabindranath  . ...From  Gitanjali  . 165,  303 

Tagore,  Rabindranath  . Autumn  .  245 

Telugu  ( East  Indian)  (16th  cen¬ 
tury)  . Ritual  not  Religion  .  642 

Teasdale,  Sara . Immortal  .  692 

Teasdale,  Sara  . . . Mastery  . . .  4 2 

Teasdale,  Sara  . Song  Making . 15 

Tamil,  Saivite  Saints  (600-800  A.D.)  .  The  Soul’s  Bitter  Cry .  488 

Tennyson,  Alfred  . Crossing  the  Bar  .  693 

Tennyson,  Alfred  . Flower  in  the  Crannied  Wall  .  263 

Tennyson,  Alfred  . The  Ancient  Sage  .  202 

Tennyson,  Alfred  . Prayer  (From  Idylls  of  the  King)..  414 

Tennyson,  Alfred  . The  Higher  Pantheism  .  202 

Tennyson,  Alfred  . From  In  Memoriam  (Proem)  .  200 

Tennyson,  Alfred  . Doubt  (From  In  Memoriam,  XCVI)  42 

Tennyson,  Alfred  . The  Larger  Hope  (From  In  Memo¬ 
riam,  LVI)  .  43 

Tennyson,  Alfred  . . The  Prayer  (From  In  Memoriam, 

CXXXI)  .  438 

Tennyson,  Alfred  . . From  In  Memoriam,  CXXIV .  304 

Thomas,  Edith  M . A  Far  Cry  to  Heaven  .  415 

Thomas,  Edith  M . The  Reply  of  Socrates  .  633 

Thompson,  Francis  . In  No  Strange  Land .  44 

Thompson,  Francis  . Lillium  Regis  .  405 

Thompson,  Francis  . The  Hound  of  Heaven .  45 

Thoreau,  Henry  D . Inspiration  .  25 

Tietjens,  Eunice  . The  Great  Man  .  354 

Tilton,  Theodore  . Even  This  Shall  Pass  Away  .  598 

Toplady,  Augustus  M . Rock  of  Ages  .  521 

Tozvne,  Charles  Hanson  . Of  One  Self-Slain  .  693 

Towne,  Charles  Hanson  . Silence  .  276 

Trench,  Herbert  . I  Seek  Thee  in  the  Heart  Alone  ....  304 

Trench,  R.  C . Prayer  .  416 

Tynan,  Katharine  (see  Hinkson) 


8i6 


INDEX  OF  AUTHORS 


PAGE 


u 


Underhill,  Evelyn  . Introversion  . 

Underhill,  Evelyn  . Supersensual  . 

Underhill,  Evelyn  . Theophany  . 

Untermyer,  Louis  . Prayer  . 

Underwood,  Wilbur  . The  Cattle  of  His  Hand 

Underwood,  Wilbur  . To  the  Brave  Soul  .... 

Upson,  Arthur  W . .  Failures  . 


3<n 

306 

307 
458 

69 

S89 

592 


V 


van  Dyke,  Henry  . 

van  Dyke,  Henry  . 

van  Dyke,  Henry  . 

van  Dyke,  Henry  . 

Van  Vondel  . 

Vaughan,  Henry  . 

Vaughan,  Henry  . 

Vaughan,  Henry  . 

Vaughan,  Henry  . 

Vaughan,  Henry  . 

Verlaine,  Paul  ( tr .  by  Arthur 

Symons )  . 

Very,  Jones  . 

Very,  Jones  . 


A  Lost  Word  of  Jesus . 

The  Gospel  of  Labor  . 

If  All  the  Skies  . 

Prayer  . 

Adam’s  Hymn  in  Paradise  . 

The  Dwelling  Place  . 

Fragment  . 

Peace  . 

The  World  . 

The  World  of  Light  . 

A  Confession  . 

Health  of  Body  Dependent  on  Soul 
The  Light  from  Within  . 


354 

392 

584 

429 

508 

307 

245 

759 

760 
76  2 


429 

308 

30Q 


W 


Waite,  Arthur  Edward 
Wallace,  James  Cowden 
Washbourne ,  Thomas  . 

Watson,  William  . 

Watson,  William  . 

Watson,  William  . 

Watson,  William  . 

Watson,  William  . 

Watson,  William  . 

Watson,  William  . 

Watson,  William  . 

Wattles,  Willard  . 

Watts,  Isaac  . 

Watts,  Isaac  . 

Watts,  Isaac  . 

Watts,  Isaac  . 

Watts,  Isaac  . . 

Wesley,  Charles  . 

Wesley,  Charles  . 

Wesley,  Charles  . 

Wheelock,  John  Hall  .  . 
Wheelock,  John  Hall  . . 


At  the  End  of  Things  . 

God  . 

Prayer  . 

.Epigram  . 

,  God-Seeking  . 

Ode  in  May  . 

,  Domine  Quo  Vadis?  . 

.The  Church  Today  . 

The  Sovereign  Poet . 

The  Hope  of  the  World  . 

.The  Unknown  God  . 

Pisgah  . . . 

Heaven  . 

When  I  Survey  the  Wondrous  Cross.  . 
Jesus  Shall  Reign  Where’er  the  Sun 
Oh,  God,  Our  Help  in  Ages  Past!  ... 

The  Incomprehensible  . 

Jesus,  Lover  My  Soul  . 

Come,  Thou  Almighty  King  . 

Divine  Love  . 

Exile  from  God  . 

The  Far  Land  . 


5i 

135 

416 

80 

53 

246 

335 

405 

15 

167 

171 

585 

763 

512 

513 

514 
184 
516 
520 

515 
730 
779 


INDEX  OF  AUTHORS 


White ,  Edward  Lucas  . . 
White ,  Joseph  Blanco  .  . 

Whitman ,  Walt  . 

Whitman,  Walt  . 

Whitman,  Walt  . 

Whitman,  Walt  . 

Whitman ,  Walt  . 

Whittier,  John  G . 

Whittier,  John  G . 

Whittier,  John  G . 

Whittier,  John  G . 

Whittier,  John  G . 

Whittier,  John  G . 

Whittier,  John  G . 

Widdemer,  Margaret  . . . 
Widdemer,  Margaret  .  . . 
Widdemer,  Margaret  .  . . 
Wightman ,  Richard  .  . . 
Wightman,  Richard  .  . . 
Wilcox,  Ella  Wheeler  . . 
Wilcox,  Ella  Wheeler  .  . 
Wilcox,  Ella  Wheeler  .  . 
Wilcox ,  Ella  Wheeler  .  . 

Willard,  Emma  . 

Williams,  Roger  . 

Williams,  Sarah  . 

Willis,  N.  P . 

Williams,  William  . 

Wooley,  Celia  Parker  . . . 
Wordsworth,  Christopher 
Wordsworth,  William  .  . 
Wordsivorth,  William  .  . 
Wordsworth,  William  . . 

Wordsworth,  William  .  . 
Wordsworth,  William  . . 
Wotton,  Sir  Henry  . . . . 


Yeats,  Wm.  Butler 


817 

PAGE 


,  Genius  .  26 

.To  Night  .  694 

,  Darest  Thou  Now,  O  Soul?  .  769 

.From  Passage  to  India  .  136 

.Prayer  of  Columbus .  458 

Song  of  Myself  (From  Leaves  of 

Grass)  .  269 

.The  Imprisoned  Soul .  769 

.Angel  of  Patience  .  585 

Adjustment  .  203 

At  Last  .  694 

The  Eternal  Goodness  .  205 

Faith  .  204 

Our  Master  .  543 

The  Over-Heart  .  138 

Barter  . 417 

The  Awakened  War  God .  173 

The  New  Victory  .  655 

The  Pilgrim  .  629 

The  Servants  .  629 

An  Inspiration  .  656 

Attainment  .  606 

Illusion  .  140 

Unanswered  Prayers  .  418 

Rocked  in  the  Cradle  of  the  Deep.  . .  .  279 

God  Makes  a  Path  .  185 

Deep  Sea  Soundings  .  730 

The  Leper  .  338 

The  Christian  Pilgrim’s  Hymn  .  518 

Refracted  Lights  .  54 

O  Day  of  Rest  and  Gladness  .  541 

From  Ode,  Intimations  of  Immortality  731 

From  The  Excursion  .  141 

Lines  Composed  a  Few  Miles  above 

Tintern  Abbey  .  247 

Ode  to  Duty  .  634 

The  World  Is  Too  Much  with  Us. . . .  248 

The  Happy  Life  .  6x2 

Y 

An  Indian  upon  God .  174 


Z 


Zangwill,  Israel  . 

Zangwill,  Israel  . 

Zangwill,  Israel  . 

Zoroaster  ( tr .  by  A.  V.  W.  Jack- 
son )  . 


At  the  Worst 

Jehovah 

In  the  City  . 


177 

i75 

393 


Zoroaster  Devoutly  Questions  Ormazd 


5S 


■M  '• 


■  .  . 

. 

■ 


■ 


■ 

r 

. 

m 


■ 


> 


.  1  .  . , 


INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES 


A 

PAGB 

A  battered,  wrecked  old  man  . Walt  Whitman .  458 

Abide  with  me.  Fast  falls  the  eventide . Henry  F.  Lyte .  525 

Abou  Ben  Adhem  (may  his  tribe  increase) . Leigh  Hunt  .  616 

Above,  below,  in  sky  and  sod  . John  G.  Whittier .  138 

A  curious  child,  who  dwelt  upon  a  tract . William  Wordsworth  ...  141 

A  fire-mist  and  a  planet  . . . . William  H.  Carruth  ....  145 

A  garden  is  a  lovesome  thing,  God  wot! . Thomas  E.  Brown .  254 

Ah,  happy  who  have  seen  Him,  whom  the  world.  Francis  W.  Bourdillon  ..  2 

Ah,  more  than  any  priest,  O  soul,  we  too  be¬ 
lieve  in  God . Walt  Whitman  .  136 

A  hymn  of  glory  let  us  sing . The  Venerable  Bede  ....  487 

Alas!  how  full  of  fear . Henry  W.  Longfellow  ..  11 

Alas,  my  heart  is  black . Modern  Chinese .  554 

A  late  lark  twitters  from  the  quiet  skies . William  E.  Henley .  725 

A  little  bird  I  am . Madame  Guyon  .  182 

All  are  but  parts  of  one  stupendous  whole . Alexander  Pope .  105 

All  hail  the  Power  of  Jesus’  name . Edward  Perronet .  522 

All  night  long  through  the  starlit  air  and  the 

stillness  . Wilbur  Underwood .  69 

All  over  the  world,  I  wonder,  in  lands  that  I 

never  #have  trod  . Sir  Alfred  C.  Lyall .  63 

All  people  that  on  earth  do  dwell . William  Kethe  .  502 

All  the  forms  are  fugitive  . Ralph  Waldo  Emerson. .  126 

All  these  on  whom  the  sacred  seal  was  set . Anna  H.  Branch .  57 

All  things  that  are  on  earth  shall  wholly  pass 

away  . . . Bernard  Rascas  .  86 

All  this  is  one . Sri  Ananda  Acharya  ....  208 

All  travail  of  high  thought . Sir  Lewis  Morris .  197 

A  mighty  fortress  is  our  God . Martin  Luther  .  498 

And  did  those  feet  in  ancient  time . William  Blake  .  614 

“And  Man  is  left  alone  with  Man.”  ’Tis  well !..  Israel  Zangwill  .  177 

And  now,  behold!  as  at  the  approach  of  the 

morning  . Dante  .  740 

A  night:  mysterious,  tender,  quiet,  deep . Charlotte  P.  Gilman  ....  147 

A  poet  lived  in  Galilee . Witter  Bynner .  345 

As  Catholics  make  of  the  Redeemer . Hendrik  Ibsen  .  130 

As  men  who  see  a  city  fitly  planned . Early  Buddhist  .  84 

As  on  the  bank  the  poor  fish  lies . Maratha  Saints  .  509 

As  the  hand  moves  over  the  harp,  and  the 

strings  speak  . Ode  VI  of  Solomon .  475 

819 


820 


INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES 


PAGE 

As  the  hart  panteth  after  the  water  brooks . Psalm  XLII  . so 

At  first  I  prayed  for  Light . Ednah  D.  Cheney  .  421 

A  thousand  sounds,  and  each  a  joyful  sound ....  Edward  E.  Hale  .  229 

At  last  to  be  identified!  . Emily  Dickinson  .  674 

At  night  in  each  others’  arms . Edward  Carpenter .  387 

At  the  cross  her  station  keeping . Jacobus  de  Benedictis . . .  483 

At  the  last,  tenderly  . Walt  Whitman  .  769 

Awake  my  ;,oul;  stretch  every  nerve . Philip  Doddridge .  520 

B 

Because  I  could  not  stop  for  Death . Emily  Dickinson  .  672 

Because  on  the  branch  that  is  tapping  my  pane.  .Arthur  Guiterman .  210 

Before  St.  Anno . Anon.  ( from  the  German )  356 

Behold  the  man  alive  in  me . .Witter  Bynner .  143 

Be  not  too  certain,  Life!  . Horace  Holley  .  38 

Beyond  the  last  horizon’s  rim . Albert  B.  Paine  .  726 

Beyond  the  murk  that  swallows  me . Irene  Rutherford  McLeod  212 

Blessed  are  they  that  have  eyes  to  see . John  Oxenham .  640 

Blessed  is  the  man  that  walketh  not  in  the  coun¬ 
sels  of  the  wicked . Psalm  I  .  628 

Bless  the  Lord,  O  my  soul . Psalm  CIV  .  227 

Bless  the  Lord,  O  my  Soul  . Psalm  CHI .  287 

Blow,  bugle,  blow  . Thomas  Curtis  Clarke...  771 

Blow  out,  you  bugles,  over  the  rich  dead . Rupert  Brooke .  698 

Booth  led  boldly  with  his  big  bass  drum . Vachel  Lindsay  .  747 

Bowed  by  the  weight  of  centuries,  he  leans . Edwin  Markham  .  375 

Brightest  and  best  of  the  sons  of  the  morning.  .  Reginald  Heber  .  525 

But  I  think  the  king  of  that  country  comes  out 

from  his  tireless  host . Henry  van  Dyke .  392 

But  whoso  may,  thrice  happy  man  him  hold . Edmund  Spenser . *..  98 

By  all  the  glories  of  the  day . Wm.  Noel  Hodgson  ....  450 

By  day  the  fields  and  meadows  cry . Thomas  Curtis  Clarke...  4 

By  every  ebb  of  the  river-side . Willard  Wattles .  585 

By  one  great  heart  the  universe  is  stirred . Margaret  Deland .  285 

By  the  light  of  burning  heretics  Christ’s  bleed¬ 
ing  feet  I  track . James  Russell  Loweii . . . .  642 


Call  me  not  dead  when  I,  indeed,  have  gone.  ...  Richard  Watson  Gilder. 

Calm  soul  of  all  things!  be  it  mine . Matthew  Arnold  . 

Canst  thou  by  searching  find  out  God? . Job  XI . 

Children  of  the  heavenly  King . John  Cennick  . 

Christ  is  risen  . Goethe  . 

City  of  God,  how  broad  and  far . Samuel  Johnson  . 

Coldly  descends  . Matthew  Arnold  . 

Come,  fill  the  cup,  and  in  the  fire  of  Spring.  .  .  .  Omar  Khayyam  . 

Come  hither  lads  and  hearken,  for  a  tale  there 

is  to  tell  . . William  Morris  . 

Come  in  the  hour  to  set  my  spirit  free . Siegfried  Sassoon  . 


677 
388 
62 
S 1 7 
323 

540 

665 

7i3 

776 

28 


INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES 


Come  Thou  almighty  King  . Charles  Wesley  . 

Come,  we  shepherds,  whose  blest  sight . Richard  Crashaw  . 

Come,  ye  disconsolate,  where’er  you  languish.  ...  Thomas  Moore . 

Come,  ye  thankful  people,  come . Harry  Alford  . 

Creator  Spirit,  by  whose  aid  . Charlemagne  . 

Count  each  affliction,  whether  light  or  grave . Sir  Aubrey  de  V ere .  . .  . 

Curb  for  the  stubborn  steed . Clement  of  Alexandria. 


D 

Darest  thou  now,  O  Soul . Walt  Whitman . 

Darkening  the  azure  roof  of  Nero’s  world . William  Watson  .... 

Darkness:  the  rain  sluiced  down;  the  mire  was 

deep  . Siegfried  Sassoon  .. 

Day  and  night  I  wander  wildly  through  the  wil¬ 
derness  of  thought  . Gamaliel  Bradford  . 

Day  is  dying  in  the  west . Mary  A.  Lathbury  . 

Day  will  return  with  a  fresher  boon .  Josiah  G.  Holland  .  . 

Dear  love,  when  with  a  two-fold  mind . Laurence  Housman 

Death  is  a  dialogue  between . Emily  Dickinson  ... 

Deep  cradled  in  the  fringed  mow  to  lie . Evelyn  Underhill  .. 

Does  the  road  wind  uphill  all  the  way?.... . Christina  Rossetti  .. 

Do  not  come  when  I  am  dead . Juanita  de  Long  ... 

Do  not  crouch  to-day  and  worship . .Adelaide  A.  Proctor 

Do  not  hurry;  have  faith . Edward  Carpenter  .. 

Do  not  pay  too  much  attention  to  the  stupid  old 

Body  . Edivard  Carpenter  .. 

Do  not  pay  too  much  attention  to  the  wandering 

lunatic  Mind  . Edward  Carpenter  .. 

Down  in  the  meadow,  spent  with  dew . Alice  Brown  . 

Down  through  the  spheres  there  came  the  Name 

of  One .  Thomas  S.  Jones  ... 


Earth  to  earth  and  dust  to  dust . George  Croly  . 

“Elder  Father,  though  thine  eyes . Gilbert  K.  Chesterton 

Enthroned  above  the  world  although  he  sit . Richard  Hovey . 

Eternal  Light!  Eternal  Light! . Thomas  Binney  . 

Eternal  Power  of  earth  and  air!  . Anne  Bronte  . 

Even  such  is  time,  that  takes  in  trust . Sir  Walter  Raleigh  .. 


Fairest  Lord  Jesus . .Anon.  ( from  the  German) 

Far  in  the  Heavens  my  God  retires . Isaac  Watts  . 

Far  up  the  dim  twilight  fluttered . George  William  Russell.. 

Father  of  all!  In  every  age . Alexander  Pope  . 

Fear  death? — to  feel  the  fog  in  my  throat . Robert  Browning  . 

Fear  not,  O  little  flock!  the  foe . Gustavus  Adolphus . 

Fish  (fly-replete,  in  depth  of  June) . Rupert  Brooke  . 


821 

PAGH 

520 

3i7 

596 

534 

577 

489 

478 


769 

335 

352 

57 

552 

195 

372 

673 

307 

754 

704 

643 

209 

608 

609 
220 

273 


737 

258 

230 

527 

186 

688 


505 

184 

41 

425 

670 

504 

764 


822 


INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES 


Flower  in  the  crannied  wall . Alfred  Tennyson  . . 

For  all  the  saints  who  from  their  labors  rest. William  W.  Howe . . 

“For  Christ’s  sweet  sake,  I  beg  an  alms” . James  Russell  Lowell  . . 

For  I  know  that  my  vindicator  liveth . Job  XIX  . . 

For  modes  of  faith  let  graceless  Zealots  fight. ..  .Alexander  Pope . . 

For  those  who  love  truly  never  die . John  B.  O’Reilly . . 

Fountain  of  Fire  whom  all  divide . Herbert  Trench  . . 

Friendless  and  faint,  with  martyred  steps  and 

slow  . Edwin  A.  Robinson  .... 

Friends  and  loves  we  have  none,  nor  wealth  nor 

blest  abode  . John  Masefield  . . 

Friend,  you  are  grieved  that  I  should  go . Karle  W.  Baker  . 

From  Greenland’s  icy  mountains . Reginald  Heber  . . 

From  heart  to  heart,  from  creed  to  creed. ......  Wm.  Channing  Gannett, 

From  morn  tiH  midnight  all  day  through . Charles  H.  Sorley . . 

Full  of  Zeus  the  cities . George  Wm.  Russell  .... 


PAGE 
263 
54^ 
3  73 
712 
198 
686 
304 

350 

66 

635 

526 

193 

605 

390 


Give  me  my  scallop-shell  of  quiet . 

Give  to  the  winds  thy  fears . 

Give  us  a  virile  Christ  for  these  rough  days. . 
Glooms  of  the  live  oaks,  beautiful-braided  and 

woven  . 

Glorious  things  of  thee  are  spoken . 

Glory  be  to  God  on  high . 

God,  although  this  life  is  but  a  wraith . 

God  and  I  in  space  alone . 

God,  if  this  were  enough . 

God  is  at  the  anvil,  beating  on  the  sun . 

God  is  not  dumb,  that  He  should  speak  no  more. 

God  is  our  refuge  and  strength . 

God  makes  a  path,  provides  a  guide . 

God  moves  in  a  mysterious  way . 

God  of  our  fathers,  known  of  old . 

God  of  the  living,  in  whose  eyes . 

God  of  us  who  kill  our  kind . 

God  pity  all  the  brave  who  go . 

God-seeking  thou  hast  journeyed  far  and  nigh.  .  . 

God,  who  made  man  out  of  dust . 

God  will  not  let  my  field  lie  fallow . 

God,  you  have  been  too  good  to  me . 

Go  not,  my  soul,  in  search  of  Him . 

Go,  soul,  the  body’s  guest . 

Good-bye,  proud  world!  I’m  going  home . 

Good  is  an  orchard,  the  saint  saith . 

Grow  old  along  with  me!  . . 

Guide  me,  O  thou  great  Jehovah . 


Sir  Walter  Raleigh .  750 

Paul  Gerhardt  .  593 

Rex  Boundy  .  344 

Sidney  Lanier  .  233 

John  Newton  . .  523 

English  Prayer  Book  . . .  480 

Louis  Untermeyer  .  458 

Ella  Wheeler  Wilcox  ...  140 

Robt.  Louis  Stevenson.  .  199 

Lew  Sarett  .  241 

James  Russell  Lowell  ...  22 

Psalm  XL  VI  .  574 

Roger  Williams  .  185 

William  Cowper  .  18 1 

Rudyard  Kipling  .  558 

John  Ellsrton  . .  675 

Percy  Mackaye  .  451 

Louise  Driscoll  .  588 

William  Watson  .  53 

Laurence  Housman .  774 

Karle  Wilson  Baker  ....  568 

Chas.  Wharton  Stork  . . .  448 

Frederick  Lucian  Hosmer  294 

Sir  Walter  Raleigh .  648 

Ralph  Waldo  Emerson.  .  224 

Katharine  Tynan  Hinkson  252 

Robert  Browning  .  357 

William  Williams  .  518 


INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES 


H 

Hail!  Hail!  Hail! . .Iroquois  Indians . 

Hail  the  glorious  Golden  City . Felix  Adler . 

Hast  thou  a  charm  to  stay  the  morning  star ....  Samuel  T.  Coleridge.... 
Hast  thou  named  all  the  birds  without  a  gun? .  .Ralph  Waldo  Emerson.  .  . 

Have  patience;  it  is  fit  that  in  this  wise . George  Santayana . 

Have  you  not  heard  his  silent  steps? . Rabindranath  Tagore  ... 

Hear  now,  O  Soul,  the  last  command  of  all.  .  . .  Sir  Henry  Newbolt . 

Hear  the  voice  of  the  Bard . William  Blake  . 

Hear  the  word  that  Jesus  spake . Henry  van  Dyke . 

Heaven  is  not  reached  by  a  single  bound . Josiah  G.  Holland . 

He  came  and  took  me  by  the  hand . Ralph  Hodgson  . 

He  cried  aloud  to  God:  “The  men  below . Edward  Lucas  White ... . 

He  did  not  know  that  he  was  dead . Harry  Kemp  . 

He  hides  within  the  lily . Wm.  C banning  Gannett. 

He  is  a  path,  if  any  be  misled . Giles  Fle*tcher  . 

He  is  made  one  with  Nature:  there  is  heard.  ...  Percy  B.  Shelley . 

He  leadeth  me!  Oh,  blessed  thought! . Joseph  H.  Gilmore . 

He  loved  the  brook’s  soft  sound . John  Clare  . 

Here  in  the  country’s  heart . Norman  Gale  . 

Here  is  thy  footstool  and  there  rest  thy  feet ....  Rabindranath  T agore  . . . 

Here  lie  I,  Martin  Elginbrodde . George  MacDonald . 

Here  lies  the  flesh  that  tried . Louise  Driscoll  . 

He  sits  above  the  clang  and  dust  of  Time . William  Watson  . 

He  stood  before  the  Sanhedrim . John  Hay  . 

He  that  dwelleth  in  the  secret  place  of  the  Most 

High  . Psalm  XCI  . 

He  that  is  down  need  fear  no  fall . John  Bunyan  . 

He  who  died  at  Azan  sends . Edwin  Arnold  . 

He  whom  a  dream  hath  possessed  knoweth  no 

more  of  doubting  . Shaemas  O  Sheel  . 

Higher  than  heaven  they  sit . William  Watson  . 

High  stretched  upon  the  swinging  yard . Thomas  Edward  Brown.. 

His  home  is  on  the  heights;  to  him . Edwin  Markham  . 

Holy,  Holy,  Holy,  Lord  God  Almighty!  . Reginald  Heber  . 

Hope  evermore  and  believe,  O  man,  for  e’en  as 

thy  thought  . Arthur  Hugh  Clough.  .. . 

However  the  battle  is  ended . Ella  Wheeler  Wilcox.... 

How  firm  a  foundation,  ye  saints  of  the  Lord...“K\”  in  Rippon’s  Selec¬ 
tions  . 

How  happy  is  he  bom  and  taught . Sir  Henry  Wotton . 

How  shall  I  address  Thee,  O  God? . Nanak  and  the  Sikhs.... 

How  shall  we  rise  to  greet  the  dawn? . Osbert  Sitwell  . 

How  to  the  singer  comes  the  song? . Richard  Watson  Gilder.. 


I 


I  am  immortal!  I  know  it!  I  feel  it! . Margaret  Fuller  .. 

I  am  my  ancient  self . Richard  Wightman 

I  am  old  and  blind . Elis.  Lloyd  Howell 


823 

PAGE 

555 
77  0 
274 
224 
596 

165 

722 

2 

354 

77 

27 

26 

679 

258 

323 

691 

538 

3 

250 

303 

455 

706 

15 

637 

575 

619 

663 

23 

167 

220 

12 

529 

189 

656 

524 

612 

497 

163 

8 


676 

629 

19 


824 


INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES 


I  am  the  reality  of  things  that  seem . Ella  Heath  . 

I  arise  today  . St.  Patrick  . 

I  believe  in  Human  Kindness . Norman  McLeod  . 

I  bent  unto  the  ground . James  Stephens  . 

I  bow  my  forehead  to  the  dust . John  G.  Whittier  . 

I  cannot  always  feel  His  greatness . Eunice  Tietjens  . 

I  cannot  find  my  way:  There  is  no  star . Edwin  A.  Robinson  .... 

I  cannot  find  Thee!  Still  on  restless  pinion ....  Elisa  Scudder  . 

I  cannot  say,  and  I  will  not  say . James  W.  Riley  . 

I  cannot  think  of  them  as  dead . Frederick  Lucian  Hosmer 

I  come  from  nothing,  but  from  where . Alice  Meynell  . 

I  do  not  count  the  hours  I  spend . Ralph  Waldo  Emerson.. 

I  do  not  fear  to  lay  my  body  down . John  Hall  Wheelock  .... 

I  do  not  fear  to  tread  the  path  that  those  I  love 

long  since  have  trod . Jeanette  Gilder  . 

I  do  not  own  an  inch  of  land . Lucy  Larcom  . 

I  do  not  pray  for  peace  nor  ease . John  G.  Neihardt . 

I  dragged  my  feet  through  desert  gloom . Alexander  Pushkin  .... 

I  dreamed  a  dream  last  night,  when  all  was  still.  Angela  Morg’an  . 

If  all  the  skies  were  sunshine . Henry  van  Dyke . 

If  He  be  truly  Christ . Louis  Golding  . 

If  I  have  faltered  more  or  less . Robert  Louis  Stevenson. 

If  I  lay  waste  and  wither  up  with  doubt . Wm.  Dean  Howells  .... 

If  in  that  secret  place . Margaret  Widdemer  .... 

If  Jesus  Christ  is  a  man . Richard  Watson  Gilder.. 

I  fled  Him,  down  the  nights  and  down  the  days.  Francis  Thompson . 

I  flung  my  soul  to  the  air,  like  a  falcon  flying...  William  R.  Benet . 

If  the  red  slayer  thinks  that  he  slays . Ralph  Waldo  Emerson  .. 

If  with  head  erect  I  sing . Henry  D.  Thoreau . 

I  give  you  the  end  of  a  golden  string . William  Blake  . 

I  greet  thee,  my  Redeemer  sure . John  Calvin  . 

I  had  my  birth  when  the  stars  were  born . Minot  J.  Savage  . 

I  have  achieved.  That  which  the  lonely  man.  .  .  .  Lascelles  .Abercrombie  . . 

I  have  a  little  inward  light,  which  still . Henry  S.  Sutton  ....... 

I  have  a  rendezvous  with  Death . Alan  Sceger  . 

I  have  wandered  like  a  sheep  that’s  lost . Thomas  Heywood  . 

I  hear  and  behold  God  in  every  object,  yet  un¬ 
derstand  God  not  in  the  least . Walt  Whitman  . 

I  heard  them  in  their  sadness  say . .George  Wm.  Russell  .... 

I  hold  that  Christian  grace  abounds . Alice  Cary  . 

I  hold  that  when  a  person  dies . John  Masefield  . 

I  kneel  not  now  to  pray  that  Thou . Harry  Kemp  . 

I  know  that  my  Redeemer  liveth — but  out  of  the 

depths  of  time  . William  Sharp  . 

I  know  the  night  is  near  at  hand . Silas  Weir  Mitchell  .... 

I  lay  among  the  ferns . Edward  Carpenter  . 

I  like  a  church;  I  like  a  cowl . Ralph  Waldo  Emerson  .. 

I  like  the  man  who  faces  what  he  must . Sarah  K.  Bolton  . 

I  lived  my  days  apart . Siegfried  Sassoon  . 


PAGE 

9 

485 

639 

243 

204 

354 

40 

41 
688 
709 
721 
226 
730 

637 

236 

456 

13 

158 

584 

324 

583 

196 

417 

323 

45 

55 

191 

25 

613 

501 

689 

142 

444 

727 

291 

309 

240 

636 

716 

447 

133 

685 

255 

17 

586 

161 


INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES 


I  look  to  Thee  in  every  need . Samuel  Longfellow  .... 

I  love  and  worship  thee  in  that  thy  ways . William  Sharp  . 

I  love  my  God,  but  with  no  love  of  mine . Madame  Guy  on  . 

I  made  a  pilgrimage  to  find  the  God . Edwin  Markham  . 

I  made  god  upon  god . Hilda  Doolittle  (Mrs. 

Richard  Aldington )  . . 

I’m  far  frae  my  hame,  and  I’m  weary  often- 

whiles  . Mary  Lee  Demarest  .  . .  . 

I  missed  him  when  the  sun  began  to  bend . George  MacDonald  . 

Immortal  Love,  forever  full . John  G.  Whittier . 

I’m  wearin’  awa’,  John . Lady  Nairne . 

I  need  not  shout  my  faith.  Thrice  eloquent . Charles  H.  Towne . 

I  never  saw  a  moor . Emily  Dickinson  . 

In  every  seed  to  breathe  the  flower . John  B.  Tabb  . 

In  fashion  as  a  snow-white  rose,  lay  then . Dante  . 

In  fellowship  Religion  has  its  founts . George  Meredith  . 

In  many  forms  we  try . Ralph  Waldo  Emerson  .. 

In  right  I  have  no  power  to  live . Tamil  Saivite  Saints  .  ..  . 

In  temporary  pain . Witter  Bynner  . 

In  the  cross  of  Christ  I  glory . Sir  John  Bowring . 

In  the  crowd’s  multitudinous  mind . Eva  Gore  Booth . 

In  the  night  . Stephen  Crane  . 

Into  the  bosom  of  the  one  great  sea . Panatattu  . 

Into  the  dusk  and  snow . Anon . 

Into  the  woods  my  Master  went .  Sidney  Lanier  . 

I  opened  the  window  wide  and  leaned . John  Masefield  . 

I  passed  along  the  waters,  below  the  humid  trees.  William  Butler  Yeats  . .  . 

I  said,  “I  will  find  God,”  and  forth  I  went . Edward  Dowden  . 

I  said:  “Let  me  walk  in  the  fields” . George  MacDonald  . 

I  saw  a  slowly  stepping  train . Thomas  Hardy  . 

I  saw  Eternity  the  other  night . Henry  Vaughan  . 

I  saw  God.  Do  you  doubt  it? . James  Stephens  . 

I  saw  on  earth  another  light . Jones  Very  . 

I  saw  the  spires  of  Oxford . Winifred  Letts  . 

I  see  His  blood  upon  the  rose . Joseph  Mary  Plunkett  .. 

“I  shall  arise.”  For  centuries . Anon . 

I  sing  the  hymn  of  the  conquered,  who  fall  in 

the  Battle  of  Life . Wm.  Wetmore  Story  ... 

I  sing  the  uplift  and  the  up-welling . Israel  Zangwill  . 

I  sought  his  love  in  sun  and  stars . Thomas  Curtis  Clarke... 

I  sought  thee  round  about,  O  thou  my  God!....  Thomas  Heywood  . 

I  stood  within  the  heart  of  God . Wm.  Vaughn  Moody  ... 

It  fortifies  my  soul  to  know . Arthur  Hugh  Clough  ... 

I  think  I  could  turn  and  live  with  animals,  they 

are  so  placid  and  self-contained . Walt  Whitman . 

I  think  that  I  shall  never  see . Joyce  Kilmer  . 

I,  thy  servant,  full  of  sighs,  cry  unto  thee . Babylonian  Hymn  . 

It  lies  around  us  like  a  cloud . Harriet  B.  Stowe  . 

I  took  a  day  to  search  for  God . Bliss  Carman  . 


825 

PAGE! 

594 

241 

512 

40 

146 

743 
39 

543 

749 

276 

744 
200 
738 
131 

128 

488 

144 

527 

343 

409 

87 

661 
253 
718 

174 

34 
632 
149 
760 
164 
309 
775 
262 

662 

59i 

175 
33 

35 
238 
190 

269 

253 

467 

767 

32 


826  INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES 


Its  edges  foamed  with  amethyst  and  rose . George  Wm.  Russell  .... 

It  singeth  low  in  every  heart . John  White  Chadwick  .. 

I  turn  my  steps  where  the  Lonely  Road . Seumas  MacManus  .... 

It  was  the  calm  and  silent  night! . Alfred  Domett . 

I  walk  the  dusty  ways  of  life . Charles  Wharton  Stork.. 

I  was  a  Roman  soldier  in  my  prime . Edwin  Markham  . 

I  watch  the  farmers  in  their  fields . William  A.  Percy  . 

I  went  down  into  the  desert . Vachel  Lindsay  . 

I  went  up  to  the  light  of  truth  as  if  into  a 

chariot  . Ode  XXXVIII  of  Solo¬ 
mon  . 

I  will  keep  the  fire  of  hope  ever  burning  on  the 

altar  of  my  soul  . Sri  Ananda  Acharya  ... 

I  will  lift  up  mine  eyes  unto  the  mountains . Psalm  CXXI  . 

I  would  not  have  a  God  come  in . Sara  Teas  dale  . 


J 

Jerusalem  my  happy  home . Anon . 

Jerusalem  the  Golden  . St.  Bernard  of  Cluny . . . . 

Jesus,  Lover  of  my  soul . Charles  Wesley  . 

Jesus  shall  reign  where’er  the  sun . Isaac  Watts  . 

Jesus,  thou  joy  of  loving  hearts . St.  Bernard  of  Clairvaux 

K 

Karshish,  the  picker-up  of  learning’s  crumbs.  ..  .Robert  Browning  . 


Last  night  I  tossed  and  could  not  sleep . Angela  Morgan  . 

Lay  me  to  sleep  in  the  sheltering  flame . William  Sharp  . 

Lead,  kindly  light,  amid  the  encircling  gloom  John  Henry  Newman  .  . 

Let  me  go  forth,  and  share . William  Watson  . 

Let  me  go  where’er  I  will . Ralph  Waldo  Emerson  . 

Let  me  speak,  sir . William  Shakespeare  .. 

Let  thy  gold  be  cast  in  the  furnace . Adelaide  Anne  Proctor. 

Let  us  ask  ourselves  some  questions;  for  that 

man  is  truly  wise . Sam  Walter  Foss  . 

Let  us  begin  and  carry  up  this  corpse . Robert  Browning . 

Let  us  with  a  gladsome  mind . , .  John  Milton  .  . . . 

Life  of  Ages,  richly  poured . Samuel  Johnson  . 

Lift  up  your  heads,  rejoice . Thomas  T.  Lynch . 

Like  some  school  master,  kind  in  being  stern ....  Ella  Wheeler  Wilcox... 

Listen  to  the  water  mill . Sara  Doudney  . 

Little  lamb,  who  made  thee? . William  Blake  . 

Little  snatch  of  an  ancient  song . Wm.  E.  H.  Lecky . 

Little  things  in  the  field,  yon  red-cloaked  clown  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson  . 

Lo,  fainter  now  lie  spread  the  shades  of  night. .  .  Gregory  the  Great . 

Lo,  if  some  pen  should  write  upon  your  rafter.  .  Frederic  W.  H.  Myers. 

Long  have  I  framed  weak  phantasies  of  Thee.  .  Thomas  Hardy . 

Lord,  for  the  erring  thought . Wm.  Dean  Howells  .  . . 

Lord,  I  am  like  to  mistletoe . Robert  Herrick  . 


PAGE 

240 

671 

595 

321 

563 

349 

250 

62 


477 

613 

576 

42 


735 

736 
516 
5i3 
494 


310 


411 

444 

443 

246 

225 

383 

580 

73 

70 

507 

20 

537 

418 

623 

264 

10 

192 

487 

132 

149 

447 

183 


INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES 


Wm.  Henry  Davies 
John  Drinkwater  . .  . 


English  Prayer  Book. . . . 
Oliver  Wendell  Holmes.  . 

Bliss  Carman  . 

Navajo  Indians  . 

Richard  Vrashazv . 

Robert  Herrick  . 

Richard  C.  Trench  . 

Richard  le  Gallienne  .... 

Charles  Wesley  . 

Sir  Aubrey  de  V ere  .... 


Lord,  I  say  nothing:  I  profess . 

Lord,  not  for  light  in  darkness  do  we  pray.. 

Lord,  now  lettest  Thou  Thy  servant  depart  in 

peace  . 

Lord  of  all  being,  throned  afar . 

Lord  of  the  grass  and  hill . 

Lord  of  the  Mountain . 

Love,  thou  art  Absolute  sole  lord  . 

Lord,  thou  hast  given  me  a  cell . 

Lord,  what  a  change  within  us  one  short  hour.  .  . 

Loud  mockers  in  the  roaring  street . 

Love  divine,  all  love  excelling . 

Love  thy  God  and  love  Him  only . 

M 

Man  is  a  sacred  city  built  of  marvelous  earth  ..John  Masefield  . 

Man  that  is  born  of  woman . Job  XIV  . 

Man  with  his  burning  soul . John  Masefield  . 

Mariner,  what  of  the  deep? . Sarah  Williams  . 

Marvel  of  marvels  if  I  myself  shall  behold . Christina  Rossetti  . 

May  the  wrath  of  the  heart  of  my  god  be  pacified.  .  Babylonian  . 

Men  told  me,  Lord,  it  was  a  vale  of  tears . David  Starr  Jordan  .  . .  . 

Mine  eyes  have  seen  the  glory  of  the  coming  of 

the  Lord  . Julia  Ward  Howe . 

Most  glorious  of  all  the  Undying,  many-named, 

girt  round  with  awe . Cleanthes  ( tr .  by  Plump- 

tre )  . 

My  body,  eh?  Friend  Death,  how  now? . Helen  Hunt  Jackson  .... 

My  faith  looks  up  to  Thee . Ray  Palmer  . 

My  God,  I  love  thee,  not  because . St.  Francis  Xavier . 

My  God  is  not  a  chiselled  stone . . . Panatattu  . 

My  heart  cried  like  a  beaten  child . Sara  Teasdale  . 

My  heart  was  fired  as  from  his  sight  it  turned.  .  Firdausi’s  Dream  . 

My  minde  to  me  a  kingdom  is . Sir  Edward  Dyer . 

Myself  when  young  did  eagerly  frequent . Omar  Khayyam  . 

My  soul  doth  magnify  the  Lord . English  Prayer  Book  ... 

My  soul  leans  toward  Him;  stretches  out  its 

arms  . George  MacDonald  . 

My  Soul,  there  is  a  Countrie . Henry  Vaughan  . 

Mysterious  night!  When  our  first  parent  knew .  Joseph  Blanco  White.... 
My  world  is  a  painted  fresco,  where  coloured 

shapes  . D.  H.  Lawrence . 

N 

Nearer,  my  God,  to  Thee . Sarah  F.  Adams  . 

Near  yonder  copse,  where  once  the  garden 

smiled  . Oliver  Goldsmith . 

Nevermore,  Shall  the  shepherds  of  Arcady  fol¬ 
low  . Don  Marquis  . 

No  coward  soul  is  mine . Emily  Bronte  . . 


827 

PAGE 

346 
440 

481 

539 

43i 

456 

364 

445 

416 

347 
5i5 
126 


718 

711 

719 
730 
752 

465 

712 

644 


433 

709 

S29 

500 

88 

15 

6 

610 

60 

481 

297 

759 

694 

152 

533 

37i 

*54 
6  97 


828 


INDEX  OF  FIRST  FINES 


PAGE 


No  hint  upon  the  hilltop  shows . John  B.  Tabb . . 

Not-Being  was  not,  Being  was  not  then . Rig-Veda  . 

Not  from  the  earth,  or  skies . Jones  Very 

Not  in  dumb  resignation . John  Hay 

Not  in  the  world  of  light  alone . Oliver  Wendell  Holmes. 

Not  on  an  Altar  shall  mine  eyes  behold  Thee... Ivan  Adair  . 

Now,  God  be  thanked  who  has  matched  us  with 

His  hour . Rupert  Brooke  . 

Now  here,  now  there,  lightheaded,  crazed  with 

. Early  Buddhist  Psalm  .. 

Now  the  day  is  over . . Sabine  Baring-Gould  ... 

Now  the  labourer’s  task  is  o’er . John  Ellerton . 


O 

O  beautiful  for  spacious  skies . Katharine  Lee  Bates  .... 

O  come,  all  ye  faithful . .  .Anon . 

O  day  of  rest  and  gladness . Christopher  Wordsworth. 

O  Domine  Deus!  Speravi  in  te . Mary  Queen  of  Scots... 

O  Earth!  Thou  hast  not  any  wind  that  blows.  .  Richard  Realf  . 

Of  all  the  thoughts  of  God  that  are . Elis.  Barrett  Browning.. 

O  Father,  we  approach  Thy  throne . Van  Vondel  . 

O  Friends!  with  whom  my  feet  have  trod . John  G.  Whittier  . 

Oft,  as  we  run  the  weary  way . Stopford  Brooke  . 

O  God  of  earth  and  altar . Gilbert  K.  Chesterton... 

O  God,  where  does  this  tend — these  struggling 

aims?  . Robert  Browning  . 

O  Great  Spirit!  . Chippewa  Indians . 

Oh,  cease,  my  wandering  soul . William  A.  Muhlenberg . 

Oh,  God,  beneath  thy  guiding  hand . Leonard  Bacon  . 

Oh  God,  our  help  in  ages  past . Isaac  Watts  . 

Oh!  Listen,  man!  . Richard  H.  Dana  . 

Oh,  may  I  join  the  choir  invisible . George  Eliot  . 

Oh,  may  my  constant  feet  not  fail . Sophocles  . 

Oh,  Most  High,  Almighty,  Good  Lord  God . St.  Francis  of  Assisi  ... 

O  Holy  vEther  and  swift-winged  Winds . Adscliylus  (.tr.  by  Elis. 

Barrett  Browning)  .... 

Oh,  seek  me  not  within  a  tomb . John  G.  Neihardt  . 

Oh!  that  mine  eye  might  closed  be . Thomas  Ellwood  . 

Oh,  worship  the  King  all  glorious  above . Sir  Robert  Grant  . 

Oh,  yet  we  trust  that  somehow  good . Alfred  Tennyson  . 

O  lily  of  the  King!  how  lies  thy  silver  wing.  ...  Francis  Thompson  . 

O  little  self,  within  whose  smallness  lies . John  Masefield  . 

O  little  town  of  Bethlehem . Phillips  Brooks  . 

O  living  will  that  shall  endure . Alfred  Tennyson  . 

O  Lord,  thou  hast  searched  me  and  known  me..  Psalm  CXXXIX  . 

O  Lord!  who  seest  from  yon  starry  height . Francesco  de  Aldana  ... 

O  Lord,  why  must  thy  poets  peak  and  pine . Shane  Leslie  . 

O  Love,  that  wilt  not  let  me  go . George  Matheson  . 

O  man  of  mine  own  people,  I  alone . Florence  Kiper  Frank... 


U 

83 

308 

556 

292 

283 

698 

31 

546 

549 


559 

5i9 

54i 

439 

239 

723 

508 

205 

586 

449 

29 

453 

528 

53i 

5i4 

703 

707 

474 

494 

569 

414 

422 

104 

43 

405 

213 

547 

438 

289 

9S> 

398 

553 

347 


INDEX  OF  FIRST  FINES 


O,  Marduk,  lord  of  countries,  terrible  one . Assyrian  Hymn  . 

O  Master,  let  me  walk  with  Thee . Washington  Gladden  ... 

O  mighty,  powerful,  strong  one  of  Ashur . Assyrian  Prayer  . 

O  mother  dear,  Jerusalem . F.  B.  P . 

O  my  God,  thou  hast  wounded  me  with  love.  .  .  . Paul  Verlaine  . 

Once  in  a  dream  I  saw  the  flowers . Christina  Rossetti . 

Once  in  Persia  reigned  a  King . Theodore  Tilton  . 

Once  when  my  heart  was  passion  free . John  B.  Tabb  . 

One  asked  a  sign  from  God;  and  day  by  day.  . .  .  Victor  Starbuck  . 

One  day  as  I  sat  and  suffered . Bliss  Carman  . . 

One  day  there  entered  at  my  chamber  door . May  Riley  Smith  . 

One  holy  church  of  God  appears . Samuel  Longfellow . 

One  sweetly  solemn  thought . Phoebe  Cary  . 

Only  for  these  I  pray . Charlotte  P.  Gilman  .... 

On  the  heights  of  Great  Endeavor . Madison  Cawein  . 

On  the  outermost  far-flung  ridge  of  ice  and 

snow  . Wilfrid  W.  Gibson.  .... 

Onward,  Christian  soldiers . .....Sabine  Baring-Gould  ... 

O  Paradise!  O  Paradise! . Frederick  W.  Faber  .... 

O  Thou  almighty  Will . Robert  of  France  . 

O  thou  eternal  one!  whose  presence  bright . Derzhavin  ( tr .  by  Sir 

John  Bowring )  . 

O  thou  great  Friend  to  all  the  sons  of  men. ..  .Theodore  Parker . 

O  thou  in  heaven  and  earth  the  only  peace . John  Milton  . 

O  Thou  not  made  with  hands . Frances  T.  Palgrave  ... 

O  Thou  unknown,  Almighty  Cause . Robert  Burns  . 

Our  birth  is  but  a  sleep  and  a  forgetting . William  Wordsworth  .  .. 

Out  for  a  walk  the  other  day . Old  French  . 

Out  of  the  deep  and  the  dark . Y one  Noguchi  . 

Out  of  the  depths  have  I  cried  unto  Thee  O 

Lord  . English  Prayer  Book  ... 

Out  of  the  night  that  covers  me . ..Win.  Ernest  Henley  .... 

Out  of  the  vastness  that  is  God . Cale  Young  Rice  . 

Outwardly  splendid  as  of  old . William  Watson  . 

O  valiant  Hearts,  who  to  your  glory  came . John  S.  Arkwright  .... 

Over  the  great  city . Edzvard  Carpenter  . 

O  Wahkonda  (Master  of  Life),  pity  me . Osage  Indians  . 

O  why  should  the  spirit  of  mortal  be  proud?. ...  William  Knox  . 

<‘0  World-God,  give  me  Wealth!”  the  Egyptian 

cried  . Emma  Lazarus  . 

O  world  invisible,  we  view  thee . Francis  Thompson  . 

O  world,  thou  choosest  not  the  better  part . George  Santayana  . 


P 

Peace,  perfect  peace,  in  this  dark  world  of  sin  ..Edward  H.  Bickersteth.  . 
Peace!  The  perfect  word  is  sounding,  like  a 


universal  hymn  . Odell  Shepard  . 

People  arrive  to  worship  in  their  church . Jules  Romain  .. 

Pity,  Religion  has  so  seldom  found . William  Cowper 


829 

PAGE 

464 

553 

463 

503 

429 

753 

598 

J25 

68 

222 

580 

556 

5/0 

442 

603 


544 

745 

493 

435 

324 

93 

778 

439 
73 1 
506 
13 

480 

588 

427 

405 

567 

389 

457 
62 1 

422 

44 

216 


551 

650 

400 

4 


830 


INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES 


Praise  of  Amen  Ra . Egyptian  . 

Prayer  is  the  soul’s  sincere  desire . James  Montgomery  .... 

Pray  for  iw  soul.  More  things  are  wrought  by 

prayer  . Alfred  Tennyson  . 

Progress  is  the  law  of  life . Robert  Browning  . 


R 

Reality,  reality  . Frances  R.  Havergal 

Rise,  crowned  with  light,  imperial  Salem  rise ! .  .  Alexander  Pope . 

Rise,  O  earth,  from  out  thy  slumber . Kalevala  . 

Rise  up,  O  men  of  God . IV m.  Pierson  Merrill. 

Rocked  in.  the  cradle  of  the  deep . . . Emma  Willard  . 

Rock  of  Ages,  cleft  for  me . Augustus  M.  Toplady 

Roll  on,  thou  deep  and  dark  blue  Ocean — roll  ...Lord  Byron  . 

“Room  for  the  leper!  Room!”  and  as  he  came.  . Nathaniel  P.  Willis  . 


S 

Safe  home,  safe  home  in  port . St.  Joseph  of  the  Studium 

Saying  “There  is  no  hope,”  he  stepped . Elisabeth  Stuart  Phelps. 

Say  not  the  struggle  naught  availeth . Arthur  Hugh  Clough  .  .  . 

Seated  one  day  at  the  organ . Adelaide  Anne  Proctor  . 

Serene,  I  fold  my  hands  and  wait . John  Burroughs  . 

Serene  the  silver  fishes  glide . Max  Eastman  . 

Shall  we  not  open  the  human  heart . Charlotte  P.  Gilman  .... 

She  made  a  little  shadow-hidden  grave . Fanny  Heaslip  Lea . 

Singer,  sing!  The  hoary  world . Richard  Wightman  . 

Sing,  my  tongue,  the  Saviour’s  glory . St.  Thomas  Aquinas  .... 

Slight  as  thou  art,  thou  art  enough  to  hide . Alice  Meynell  . 

So,  back  again? — And  is  your  errand  done . Josephine  P.  Peabody... 

So  faith  is  strong . George  Eliot  . 

So  "here  hath  been  dawning . Thomas  Carlyle  . 

Some  keep.  Sunday  going  to  church . Emily  Dickinson  . 

Sometimes,  I  know  not  why,  nor  how,  nor 

whence  . William.  James  Dawson.. 

So  soon  my  body  will  have  gone . Sara  T easdale  . 

So,  there,  when  sunset  made  the  downs  look  new .  Charles  H.  Sorley . . 

Sorrow  has  a  harp  of  seven  strings . Ethel  Clifford  . 

Sorrows  humanize  our  race .  Jean  Ingelow  . 

Souls  of  men!  why  will  ye  scatter . Frederick  W.  Faber  .... 

Stainless  soldier  on  the  walls . Ralph  Waldo  Emerson  .  . 

Stern  Daughter  of  the  Voice  of  God! . William  Wordsworth  ... 

Strong  in  a  dream  of  perfect  bloom . Wilbur  Underwood  .... 

Strong  Son  of  God,  immortal  Love . Alfred  Tennyson  . 

Such  pictures  of  the  heavens  were  never  seen.  .Richard  Watson  Gilder.. 

Sudden  amid  the  slush  and  rain . Israel  Zangwill  . 

Sunset  and  evening  star . Alfred  Tennyson  . 

Surrounded  by  unnumbered  Foes . Gerald  Massey . 

Sweet  day,  so  cool,  so  calm,  so  bright! . George  Herbert  . 

Sweet  is  the  time  for  joyous  folk . Alice  Brown  . 


PAGE 

468 

410 

414 

30 


325 

5 13 
454- 

564 

279 

5-21 

277 

33& 


491 
641 
70  2 
576 
187 

59 

148 

212 

629 

495 

260 

268 

190 

623 

223 

6 

692 
8o* 

597 

578 

536 

286 

634 

589- 

200 

272 

393 

693 
57i 
627 
219 


INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES 


T 

Take,  then,  your  paltry  Christ . F~ancis  Adams  . 

Teach  me,  Father,  how  to  go . Edwin  Markham  . 

Teach  me,  my  God  and  King . George  Herbert . 

Tell  me,  O  Swan,  your  ancient  tale . . Song  of  Kabir  . 

Tell  them,  I  am,  Jehovah  said . Christopher  Smart  . 

Thanks  to  St.  Matthew,  who  had  been . Sarah  N.  C leghorn . 

That  day  of  wrath,  that  dreadful  day . . . Thomas  of  Celano . 

That  I  have  felt  the  rushing  wind  of  Thee . Stephen  Philipps . 

That  which  we  dare  invoke  to  ble^s . Alfred  Tennyson  . 

That  with  this  bright  believing  band . Thomas  Hardy  . 

The  age  is  great  and  strong.  Her  chains  are 

riven  . Victor  Hugo  . 

The  Assyrian  came  down  like  a  wolf  on  the  fold. Lord  Byron  . 

The#blinding  sun  at  ten  o’clock . Edwin  Ford  Piper . 

The  bliss  for  which  our  spirits  pine . Paul  H.  Hayne  . 

The  bustle  in  the  house . Emily  Dickinson  . 

The  cheerfu’  supper  done,  wi’  serious  face . Robert  Burns  . 

The  Church’s  one  foundation  . Samuel  J.  Stone . 

The  day  is  quenched,  the  sun  is  fled . Josiah  G.  Holland . 

The  dead  abide  with  us!  Though  stark  and  cold.  .Mathilde  Blind  . 

The  dream  is  the  thought  in  the  ghost . George  Meredith  . 

The  earth  is  not  the  steadfast  place . IVm.  Vaughn  Moody  ... 

The  endless,  foolish  merriment  of  stars . ...Alice  Corbin  Henderson. 

The  end  of  being  is  to  find  out  God . Seneca  . 

The  evening  star  that  softly  sheds . Celia  P.  Wooley  . 

The  eyes  that  weep  for  pity  of  the  heart . Dante  . 

The  gates  are  open  on  the  road . Charles  H.  Sorley  . 

The  God  whose  goodness  filleth  every  clime. - Jean  B.  Racine  . 

The  harps  hung  up  in  Babylon . Arthur  Colton  . 

The  heavens  declare  the  glory  of  God . Psalm  XIX  . 

The  Kings  of  the  East  are  riding . Katharine  Lee  Bates.... 

The  life  above,  the  life  on  high . St.  Teresa  . 

The  little  cares  that  fretted  me . ...Anon . 

The  Living.  God.  The  God  that  made  the  world.  Charlotte  P.  Gilman.... 

The  Lord  descended  from  above . Thomas  Sternhold . 

The  Lord  God  planted  a  garden . Dorothy  Frances  Gurney 

The  Lord  is  my  light  and  my  salvation . Psalm  XXVII  . 

The  Lord  is  my  shepherd . Psalm  XXIII  . 

The  Lord  reigneth;  he  is  apparelled  with  majesty  .Psalm  XCIII  . 

The  moon  shines  in  my  body,  but  my  blind  eyes 

cannot  see  it  . Song  of  Kabir . 

The  moon  was  round . James  Stephens  . 

The  morning  light  is  breaking . Samuel  F.  Smith . 

The  parson  of  a  country  town  was  he . Chaucer  . 

The  pith  of  faith  is  gone.  And  as  there  lie . Norman  Gale  . 

The  poet  hath  the  child’s  sight  in  his  breast. ...  Elis.  Barrett  Browning.. 

The  poet’s  words  are  winged  with  fire . Joel  Benton  . 

The  prayers  I  make  will  then  be  sweet  indeed.  .  .Michelangelo  Buonarotti. 


83 1 

PAGE 

342 
254 
44  2 
23 1 

95 
345 
75  7 
424 

304 

396 

382 

377 

398 

773 

673 

385 

532 

I95 

696 

215 

647 

290 

85 

54 

74i 

79 

5ii 

626 

271 

342 

756 

249 

128 

99 

259 

9i 

91 

93 

295 

243 

530 

363 

34 

3 

1 

452 


8  32 


INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES 


PAGE 

There  are  hermit  souls  that  live  withdrawn . Sam  Walter  Foss  .  620 

Therefore,  when  thou  wouldst  pray,  or  dost 

thine  alms  . Sir  Aubrey  de  V ere . . . .  410 

There  is  a  beautiful  island  away  in  the  West.  .  .  Sioux  Indians  .  766 

There  is  a  green  hill  far  away . Cecil  F.  Alexander .  536 

There  is  a  land  of  Dream . William  Sharp  .  728 

There  is  a  land  of  pure  delight . Isaac  Watts  .  763 

There  is  an  Eye  that  never  sleeps . James  Cowden  Wallace .  .  135 

There  is  an  old  and  very  cruel  god . Richard  Aldington  .  448 

There  is  a  quest  that  calls  me . Cale  Young  Rice .  66 

There  is  a  sentinel  before  the  gate . E.  II .  K .  397 

There  is  no  great  nor  small . Ralph  Waldo  Emerson..  286 

There  is  no  unbelief . . . Elizabeth  York  Case  ....  188 

There  is  one  Mind,  one  omnipresent  Mind. ...  Samuel  T.  Coleridge  ....  100 

There  is  somewhere  a  Secret  Garden,  which  none  • 

hath  seen  . Robert  Nichols  .  260 

There  smiled  the  Smooth  Divine,  unused  to 

wound  . Timothy  Dwight  .  369 

There  was  a  bright  and  happy  tree . Gerald  Gould  .  251 

There  was  once  a  boat  on  a  billow . Jean  Ingelow  .  677 

There  were  ninety  and  nine  that  safely  lay . Elizabeth  C.  Clephane . . .  548 

There  where  he  sits,  in  the  cold,  in  the  gloom.  .Odell  Shepard  .  162 

The  rocks  flow  and  the  mountain  shapes  flow.  .  .  .Edward  Carpenter  .  267 

The  round  moon  hangs  like  a  yellow  lantern  in 

the  trees  . Watson  Kerr  .  232 

The  royal  feast  was  done;  the  king . Edward  R.  Sill  .  427 

These  are  the  gifts  I  ask  of  thee . .  ....  Henry  van  Dyke  .  429 

These  are  thy  glorious  works,  Parent  of  good.  .John  Milton  .  509 

The  senses  loving  Earth  or  well  or  ill . George  Meredith  .  215 

These  things  shall  be!  A  loftier  race . John  Addington  Symonds  779 

The  Son  of  God  goes  forth  to  war . Reginald  Hcber .  381 

The  Sons  of  Mary  seldom  bother,  for  they  have 

inherited  that  good  part . Rudyard  Kipling  .  617 

The  soul  wherein  God  dwells . Johannes  SchefHer .  755 

The  sounding  cataract . William  Wordsworth  .  .  .  247 

The  spacious  firmament  on  high . Joseph  Addison  .  270 

The  stranger  in  my  gates — lo!  that  am  I . George  Sterling  .  729 

The  sun,  the  moon,  the  stars,  the  seas,  the  hills 

and  the  plains  . Alfred  Tennyson  .  202 

The  three  ghosts  on  the  lonesome  road . Theodosia  Garrison  ....  772 

The  tree  of  Faith  its  bare  dry  boughs  must  shed. John  G.  Whittier  .  203 

The  War  God  wakened  drowsily . Margaret  Widdemer  ....  173. 

The  wasting  thistle  whitens  in  my  crest . Gilbert  K.  Chesterton...  58. 

The  white  church  on  the  hill . Wilson  Agnew  Barrett  ..  394 

The  word  of  God  came  unto  me . Helen  Keller  .  373 

The  word  of  the  Lord  by  night . Ralph  Waldo  Emerson..  378 

The  world  is  too  much  with  us:  late  and  soon.  .  .William  Wordsworth  ...  248 

The  world  uprose  as  a  man  to  find  Him . Arthur  Edward  Waite  ..  51 

They  all  were  looking  for  a  king . George  MacDonald  .  327 


INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES 


They  are  all  gone  into  the  world  of  light . Henry  Vaughan  . 

They  are  not  long,  the  weeping  and  the  laughter .  Ernest  Dowson  . 

They  bade  me  cast  the  thing  away . Helen  Hunt  Jackson  .... 

They  bear  no  laurels  on  their  sunless  brows. ..  .Arthur  W.  Upson  . 

The  years  are  flowers  and  bloom  within . Richard  Burton  . 

The  year’s  at  the  spring . Robert  Browning  . 

They  have  not  gone  from  us.  Oh,  no!  they  are .  .Robert  Nichols  . 

They  move  on  tracks  of  never-ending  light . Rhys  Carpenter  . 

They  put  up  big  wooden  gods . Carl  Sandburg  . 

They  say  that  “Time  assuages”.., . Emily  Dickinson  . 

They  that  go  down  to  the  sea  in  ships . Psalm  CVII  . 

They  went  forth  to  battle,  but  they  always  fell.  ..S' hacmas  O  Sheel  . 

They  who  create  rob  death  of  half  its  stings. ..  .Lloyd  Mifflin  . 

This  flesh  is  but  the  symbol  and  the  shrine . Angela  Morgan  . 

This  from  that  soul  incorrupt  whom  Athens  had 

doomed  to  the  death . Edith  M.  Thomas  . 

This  I  ask  Thee — tell  it  to  me  truly,  Lord! . Zoroaster  . 

This  I  beheld,  or  dreamed  it  as  a  dream . Edward  R.  Sill  . 

This  is  that  blessed  Mary,  pre-elect . Gabriel  Chas.  Dante  Ros¬ 
setti  . 

This  is  the  month,  and  this  the  happy  morn . John  Milton  . 

This  is  the  ship  of  pearl,  which,  poets  feign . Oliver  Wendell  Holmes. 

This  starry  world,  and  I  in  it . James  Oppenheim  . 

Thou  and  I  and  he  art  not  gods  made  men  for 

a  span  . Algernon  C.  Swinburne . 

Thou  art  coming,  O  my  Savior . Frances  Ridley  Havergal 

Thou  art  the  essence  of  all  created  things . Pedro  Calderon  de  la 

Barca  . 

Thou  canst  not  prove  that  thou  art  body  alone.  .Alfred  Tennyson  ....... 

Though  one  with  all  that  sense  or  soul  can  see.  .Richard  Hovey  . 

Though  the  bee  . James  Vila  Blake  . 

Though  the  long  seasons  seem  to  separate . Eva  Gore  Booth  . 

Thought  is  deeper  than  all  speech . Christopher  P.  Cranch.. 

Thou  shalt  have  but  one  pod  only . Arthur  Hugh  Clough  ... 

Thou,  too,  sail  on,  O  ship  of  state! . Henry  W.  Longfellow... 

Thou,  who  dost  dwell  alone . Matthew  Arnold  . 

Thou,  who  dost  feel  Life’s  vessel  strand . Edmund  C.  Stedman  ... 

Three  score  and  ten!  The  tumult  of  the  world.  .Dudley  Foulke  . 

Thro’  the  night  of  doubt  and  sorrow . Bernard  S.  Ingemann .  .. 

Thus  man  by  his  own  strength  to  Heaven  would 

soar  (from  Religio  Laici)  . John  Dryden  . 

Thy  kingdom  come,  O  Lord . Frederick  Lucian  Hosmer 

Thy  kingdom  come — on  bended  knees . Frederick  Lucian  Hosmer 

Thy  kingdom,  Lord,  we  long  for . Vida  Scudder  . 

Tiger,  tiger,  burning  bright . William  Blake  . 

’Tis  sorrow  builds  the  shining  ladder  up . James  Russell  Lowell  .. 

To  an  open  house  in  the  evening . Gilbert  K.  Chesterton  .. 


833 

PAGE 

762 

705 

197 

592 

255 

22  I 
723 
l6 
l6l 
598 
278 
589 
12 
298 

633 
•  55 
625 

335 

327 

604 

685 

300 

550 

506 
202 
231 
2  83 
285 
5 

395 

646 

419 

582 

708 

545 

101 
560 
557 
56x 
265 
579 
77 1 


834 


INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES 


To  church!  I  heard  a  sermon  once  in  spring. .. Harold  Monro  . 

Today  I  have  grown  taller  from  walking  with 

the  trees  . Kdrle  Wilson  Baker.  . .  . 

Today  the  peace  of  autumn  pervades  the  world.  .Rabindranath  Tagore  ... 

To  God,  the  everlasting,  who  abides . John  Addington  Symonds 

To  him  who  in  the  love  of  Nature  holds . Wm.  Cullen  Bryant  .... 

To  keep  my  health!... . Charlotte  P.  Gilman  .... 

To  .Mercy,  Pity,  Peace,  and  Love . William  Blake  . 

To  see  the  world  in  a  grain  of  sand . William  Blake  . 

To  weary  hearts,  to  mourning  homes . John  G.  Whittier  . 

To  what  new  fates,  my  country,  far . Richard  Hovey  . . 

Truth,  be  more  precious  to  me  than  the  eyes.  .  .  .Max  Eastman  . 

Truth,  so  far,  in  my  book; — the  truth  which 

draws  . Eliz.  Barrett  Browning . . 

’Twas  August,  and  the  fierce  sun  overhead . Matthew  Arnold  . 

“Two  hands  upon  the  breast . Dinah  M.  Craik . 

Two  of  Thy  children  one  summer  day  worked  in 

their  garden,  Lord  . Rose  Parkwood  . . 

U 

Under  the  wide  and  starry  sky . 

Unshunnable  is  grief;  we  should  not  fear 

Unto  my  faith  as  to  a  spar,  I  bind . 

Unto  the  deep  the  deep  heart  goes . 

Upon  the  topmost  branches  dies . 

Use  all  your  hidden  forces.  Do  hot  miss 

V 

Vain  is  the  chiming  of  forgotten  bells. . 

Victory  comes  . 

W 

Wakeful  all  night  I  lay  and  thought  of  God . Mark  W.  Call  . 

Walk  with  thy  fellow-creatures:  note  the  hush..  Henry  Vaughan  . 

We  are  the  toilers  whom  God  hath  barred . Richard  Burton  . 

We  are  sighing  for  you,  far  land . John  Hall  Wlieelock  ... 

Weary  of  myself  and  sick  of  asking . Matthew  Arnold  . 

Weigh  me  the  fire;  or  canst  thou  find . Robert  Herrick  . 

We  know  not  what  it  is,  dear,  this  sleep  so  deep 

and  still  . Mary  M.  Dodge . 

We  must  pass  like  smoke  or  live  within  the 

spirit’s  fire  . George  Wm.  Russell  . . . 

We  praise  thee,  O  God;  we  acknowledge  thee  to 

be  the  Lord  . English  Prayer  Book  ... 

We  thirst,  at  first, — ’tis  nature’s  act . Emily  Dickinson  . 

What  a  commanding  power . Thomas  Washbourne  ... 

What  a  fine  cow  your  predecessor  was . East  Indian  Toda  ( tr .  by 

W.  E.  Mashiel )  . 

What!  dost  thou  pray  that  the  outgone  tide  be 

rolled  back  on  the  strand . Edith  M.  Thomas . 

What  do  you  seek  within,  O  soul,  my  brother ?.  .Evelyn  Underhill  . 


Robt.  Louis  Stevenson.. 
Stephen  Phillips  ....... 

Airs.  Edward  Dow  den  . . 
George  Wm.  Russell.  .  .  . 

Fernand  Gregh  . 

Ella  Wheeler  Wilcox.... 

Joyce  Kilmer  . 

Mangaret  Widdemer  . . . . 


PAG® 

156 

251 

245 

i33 

699 

630 

284 

263 

585 

645 

438 

105 

388 

703 

261 


729 

572 

190 

726 

194 

606 


9 

655 


145 

245 

6x5 

779 

607 

61 

674 

689 

482 

6Z4 

416 

454 

4i5 

305 


INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES 


What  happy  secret  fountain . Henry  Vaughan . 

What  instinct  forces  man  to  journey  on . Amy  Lowell  . 

What  is  hope?  A  smiling  rainbow . Thgmas  Carlyle  . 

What  is  poetry?  Is  it  a  mosaic . Amy  Lowell  . 

“What  is  the  song  I  am  singing?” . William  Sharp  ( Fiona 

Macleod)  . 

What  makes  a  city  great?  Huge  piles  of  stone. . Dudley  Foulke  . 

What  shall  I  do  to  be  just? . Hamlin  Garland  . 

What  shall  we  be  like  when . John  Oxenham  . 

What  thou  hast  done,  thou  hast  done;  for  the 

heavenly  horses  are  swift . Mary  W.  Plummer  .... 

What  was  his  name?  I  do  not  know  his  name. .  Edward  E.  Hale  . 

When  coldness  wraps  this  suffering  clay . Lord  Byron  . 

When  earth’s  last  picture  is  painted,  and  the 

tubes  are  twisted  and  dried . Rudyard  Kipling  . 

When  first  the  busy,  clumsy  tongue  is  stilled. .  .Evelyn  Underhill  . 

When  fishes  flew  and  forests  walked . Gilbert  K.  Chesterton  .. 

When  he  went  blundering  back  to  God . Chas.  Hanson  Towne  .. 

When  I  consider  how  my  light  is  spent . John  Milton  . 

When  I  consider  life  and  its  few  years . Lisette  W.  Reese  . 

When  I  survey  the  wondrous  Cross . Isaac  Watts  . 

When  I  was  far  from  the  sea’s  voice  and  vast¬ 
ness  . . . Cale  Young  Rice . 

When  I  was  young  the  days  were  long . Katharine  Tynan  Hinkson 

When  my  life  has  enough  of  love,  and  my  spirit 

enough  of  mirth  . Arthur  Stringer  . 

When  once  I  knew  the  Lord . Sivaite  Puritans  . 

When  on  my  day  of  life  the  night  is  falling. ..  .John  G.  Whittier  . 

When,  over-arched  by  gorgeous  night . William  Watson  . 

When  some  beloved  voice  that  was  to  you . Elis.  Barrett  Browning . . 

When  the  anxious  hearts  say  “Where?” . Anon . 

When  the  night  is  still  and  far . Wm.  Channing  Gannett. 

When  we  have  thrown  off  this  old  suit . George  Meredith . 

When  whelmed  are  altar,  priest  and  creed . William  Watson  . 

Where  angel  trumpets  hail  a  brighter  sun . Eugene  Lee-Hamilton  .. 

Where  cross  the  crowded  ways  of  life . Frank  Mason  North  .... 

Where  lies  the  land  to  which  the  ship  would  go? . Arthur  Hugh  Clough  ... 

Where  runs  the  river?  Who  can  say . Francis  Wm.  Bourdillon 

Where  the  sun  shines  in  the  street . Mary  Carolyn  Davies  .. 

Whither,  midst  falling  dew . Wm.  Cullen  Bryant  .... 

Who  bids  us  sing?  What  need  has  the  world 

for  song  . Rhys  Carpenter  . 

Who  drives  the  horses  of  the  sun . John  Vance  Cheney  .... 

Who  is  this  that  cometh  from  Edom . Isaiah  LXIII  . 

Who  never  ate  with  tears  his  bread . Goethe  . 

Who  Thou  art  I  know  not . Harry  Kemp  . 

Why  be  afraid  of  death,  as  though  your  life 

were  breath?  . Maltbie  Babcock  . 

Why  hast  thou  breathed,  O  God,  upon  my 
thoughts  . „ . Angela  Morgan  . 


835 

PAGE 

307 

II 

587 

22 

24.  t 
390 
441 

686 

62s 

631 

701 

715 
306 
268 

693 

597 

590 

512 

300 

183 

583 

492 

694 
171 
568 

695 

370 

720 

80 

716 
561 
765 

696 

34 

266 

16 

619 

746 

578 

21  I 

670 

23 


836  INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES 

Will  seeing  Concan  make  a  dog  a  lion . ( From  the  Telugu ) . 

Will  sprawl,  now  that  the  heat  of  day  is  best. .  .Robert  Browning  . 

Will  there  really  be  a  morning? . Emily  Dickinson  . 

Wilt  thou  forgive  that  sin  where  I  begun? . John  Donne  . 

Within  the  iron  cities . George  Wm.  Russell  ... 

Would  that  the  structure  brave,  the  manifold 

music  I  build  . Robert  Browning  . 

Write  on  my  grave  when  I  am  dead . Katharine  Tynan  Hinkson 


Y 

Ye  morning  glories,  ring  in  the  gale  your  bells.  .James  Oppenheim  . 

“Yea,  my  King,”  . Robert  Broivning  . 

Ye  that  have  faith  to  look  with  fearless  eyes. ..  .Australian  soldier . 

Yet  once  more,  O  ye  laurels,  and  once  more.  ..  .John  Milton  . 

You  come  along  .  .  .  tearing  your  shirt . Carl  Sandburg  . 

“You  never  attained  to  Him.”  “If  to  attain. ..  .Alice  Meynell  . 

You  sail  and  you  seek  for  the  Fortunate  Isles.  .  .Joaquin  Miller  . 

You  say,  “Where  goest  Thou?”  I  cannot  tell  ...Victor  Hugo  . 


You  say,  with  no  touch  of  scorn . Alfred  Tennyson 

You  that  uphold  the  world . Alice  Brown  .... 


Zeus — by  what  name  soe’er 


Z 


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PAGE 

642 

III 

745 

453 

392 

107 

229 

160 

119 

209 

680 

350 

78 

766 

196 

42 

421 


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